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 always see. Plainly a man of substance, Bill surmised, with silver things on his table at home.

Bill was feeling pretty tight around the belly-band, and comfortable all over, after his liberal meal. Perhaps his heavy feeding had dulled his sense of premonition, or maybe replenishment had lifted his courage to the height that belittled danger, but he had no concern for Marshal Kellogg, or when he might appear, or what he might do.

He had the whimsical thought that it would have been a real hardship to have to die as hungry as he was half an hour ago. He could not account for that light contempt for danger that had come over him, and he did not trouble to try. He was there: if anybody wanted to crowd him, let him come on.

Dunham's immediate planning concerned a cigar, to the exclusion of activities on the street which might have engaged his attention otherwise. He was not aware of this change in the moping aspect of the street until he set foot on the sidewalk in front of MacKinnon's hotel.

Almost every club-nosed front along the street appeared to have shaken out four or five people, like dice thrown by many players lined up at a long bar. They were all craning and looking in the general direction of the depot, although Dunham had all the evidence he needed to convince him no extraordinary event was expected there.

Ford Kellogg was sauntering down the street toward MacKinnon's, as he had come sauntering last night to keep the grim tryst in which he had been disappointed.