*CHAPTER XIX* *A LECTURE WASTED* That evening Tex had a caller in the person of Henry Williams, who seemed to be carrying quite a load of suspicion and responsibility. He nodded sourly, and nonchalantly seated himself on a chair at the other side of the door. His troubled mind was not hidden from the marshal, who could read surface indications of a psychological nature as well as any man in the West. No small part of his poker skill was built upon that ability. Should he lead his visitor by easy and natural stages to unburden himself; make a hearty, blunt opening, or make him blurt out his thoughts and go on the defensive at once? Having anything but respect and liking for the vicious nephew, he determined to make him as uncomfortable as possible. So he paid him the courtesy of a glance and resumed his apparently deep cogitations. Henry waited for a few minutes, studying the ground and the front of his uncle’s store and then coughed impatiently. ’"Tis that," responded Tex abstractedly; "but hot, an’ close. I was thinkin’," he said, definitely. Henry looked up inquiringly: "Yes?" "Yes," said the marshal gravely. "I was." His tone repulsed any comment and he kept on thinking from where he had left off. Henry shifted on the chair and recrossed his legs, one foot starting to swing gently to and fro. To put himself _en rapport_ with his forbidding companion, he too, began thinking; or at least he simulated a thinker. The swinging foot stopped, jiggled up and down a few times, and began swinging more energetically. Soon he began drumming on the chair with the fingers of one hand. Presently he shifted his position again, recrossed his legs, grunted, and drummed alternately with the fingers of both hands. Then they drummed in unison, the nails of one set clicking with the rolling of the pads of the fingers of the other hand. Then he puckered his lips and began to whistle. "Don’t do that!" snapped Tex, and returned to his cogitations. "What? Which?" asked Henry, starting. "That!" exploded the marshal savagely and lapsed into intense concentration. Henry’s lips straightened and he looked down at the drumming fingers, and stopped them. Squirming on the chair, he uncrossed his legs and pushed them out before him, intently regarding the two rounded groves in the dust made by his high heels. Then he glanced covertly at his frowning companion, cleared his throat tentatively, and became quiet as the frown changed into a scowl. The marshal thought that his visitor must have something important on his mind, something needing tact and velvety handling. Otherwise he would have become discouraged by this time and left. Was it about Jane? That would be the natural supposition, but he slowly abandoned it. Henry never had shown any timidity when speaking about her. It must be something concerning the riot in the hotel.