Once in my roving gaze I caught Blandy's glinty
eye on me. I didn't like the gleam. I said to myself I'd watch him if I
had to do it out of the back of my head. Blandy, by the way, is--was--I
should say, the Hope So bartender." I stopped to clear my throat and get
my breath.
"Was," whispered Sally. She quivered with excitement. Miss Sampson bent
eyes upon me that would have stirred a stone man.
"Yes, he was once," I replied ambiguously, but mayhap my grimness
betrayed the truth. "Don't hurry me, Sally. I guarantee you'll be sick
enough presently.
"Well, I kept my eyes shifty. And I reckon I'll never forget that room.
Likely I saw what wasn't really there. In the excitement, the suspense,
I must have made shadows into real substance. Anyway, there was the
half-circle of bearded, swarthy men around Blome's table. There were the
four rustlers--Blome brooding, perhaps vaguely, spiritually, listening
to a knock; there was Bo Snecker, reckless youth, fondling a flower he
had, putting the stem in his glass, then to his lips, and lastly into
the buttonhole of Blome's vest; there was Hilliard, big, gloomy, maybe
with his cavernous eyes seeing the hell where I expected he'd soon be;
and last, the little dusty, scaly Pickens, who looked about to leap and
sting some one.
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