"I say," he said, "may I have a bit of hot water to put in this coffee?" "Sure," said Calamity, and went on, but the whole table knew that the stranger was on his guard. The mutual suspicion gave a tenseness to the atmosphere, as if it were charged with the electricity of a coming storm, a tingling waiting which made the men prone to become silent and then talk again in fitful outbursts. Or it might be said that it was like a glass full of precipitate which only waits for the injection of a single unusual substance before it settles to the bottom and leaves the remaining liquid clear. It was for the unusual, then, that the entire assembly waited, feeling momentarily that it must be coming, for the strain could not endure. As for Bard, he stuck by his original apparent indifference. For he still felt sure that the real William Drew was behind this elaborate deception and the thing for which he waited was some revelation of the hand of the master. The trumps which he felt he held was in being forewarned; he could not see that the others knew his hand. He said to Lawlor: "I think a man named Nash works on this ranch. I expected to see him at supper here." "Nash?" answered Lawlor. "Sure, he used to be foreman here. Ain't no more. Nope--I couldn't stand for his lip. Didn't mind him getting fresh till he tried to ride me. Then I turned him loose. Where did you meet him?" "While I was riding in this direction." "Want to see him bad?" The other moistened his lips. "Rather! He killed my horse." A silence fell on these who were within hearing. They would not have given equal attention to the story of the killing of a man. "How'd he get away with it?" "The Saverack was between us. Before I could get my gun out he was riding out of range. I'll meet him and have another talk some day." "Well, the range ain't very small." "But my dear fellow, it's not nearly as big as my certainty of meeting this--cur." There is something in a low, slow voice more thrilling than the thunder of actual rage. Those who heard glanced to one another with thoughtful eyes. They were thinking of Nash, and thinking of him with sympathy. Little Duffy, squat and thick-set, felt inspiration descend on him. He turned to Bard on his left. "That ain't a full-size forty-five, is it--that one you're packin'?" "Doesn't it look it?" answered Bard. "Nope. Holster seems pretty small to me." "It's the usual gun, I'm sure," said Bard, and pulled the weapon from the leather. Holding the butt loosely, his trigger finger hooked clear around the far side of the guard, he showed the gun. "I was wrong," nodded Duffy unabashed, "that's the regular kind. Let's have a look at it." And he stretched out his hand. No one would ever have guessed how closely the table followed what now happened, for each man began talking in a voice even louder than before. It was as if they sought to cover the stratagem of Duffy with their noise.