Big Tom stood in the doorway and watched his two-gun man enter the corral. His confidence in the wiry killer was not built upon hearsay. Cold, venomous, and quick, he was more like a rattler than his namesake. Up to now every man who had faced Wolf Forbes had faced death, a death swift and certain. In due time Wolf rode northward and arrived in Gunsight, where he loafed around exchanging gossip with everyone he knew. George was coaxed to talk, but his stupidity did what a mediocre cleverness might have failed to do. He yielded nothing that Wolf could use, and a few things which did not suit Wolf's needs. With Jerry, the harness-maker, the conversation was a husk without a kernel, and the second-hand saddles were of no value to Wolf, who was searching down things which were against his own convictions. Two-Spot smoked his cigar and rambled aimlessly in his garrulous monologue. He was hopeless from Wolf's viewpoint. Dave's admissions were barren of information of a constructive sort. Fanning did not know anything, and Dailey was as bad. Wolf finally gave up the effort and went back to the Palace, there to await the coming of Nelson. Johnny entered the saloon some time later, nodded to its occupants, but kept on going toward the rear door. "Be back after I eat," he said. George looked out to see who was washing. "This ain't no time to come in for dinner," he growled. "There's never no time like th' present. Can't help it," retorted Johnny. "While I'm washin' you rustle th' chuck." "Wolf was here askin' about you," said George. "That so? Well, that ain't no crime." "Can he shoot better'n you?" queried the cook. "He says he'll shoot against anybody in this country with six-guns, any fashion, for a dollar a shot. Does it sound like money?" "If I could shoot that good I'd be too rich to be restin' up between cow-punchin' jobs," gurgled Johnny through a double handful of water. "Reckon he knows what he's talkin' about, or he wouldn't risk bein' took up." "Well," said the cook, "I've heard somethin' from them that seen it. If you aim to go ag'in' him, let me know ahead of time, will you?" "I ain't aimin' to," replied Johnny. "Hey! Wait!" exclaimed the cook, disappearing. He returned with a clean towel. "Use this. That ain't fit for a dog no more." Johnny looked at the old one and smiled. It was quite some distance from the condition which called for a change of towels at the Delmonico. "Thanks. Th' dirt won't come off this one. What about dinner?" "Gosh! I forgot," said George, dodging into the kitchen. Johnny had company while he ate, for the cook entertained him with an account of Wolf's visit, to all of which Johnny paid polite interest, but he hastened his meal. Then he slowed again, for George was beginning to get at the kernels. "Has he lost his saddle?" asked the cook. "Don't know."