And The Spider knew, without other evidence than his own eyes found,
that this young stranger would not hesitate to kill him if sufficient
provocation offered. Nor did this displease the autocrat of Showdown
in the least. He was accustomed to dealing with such men. Yet one
thing bothered him. Had the stranger made a get-away that would bring
a posse to Showdown--as the Mexican had intimated? If so the sooner
the visitor left, the better. If he were merely some cowboy looking
for easy money and excitement, that was a different matter. Or perhaps
he had but stolen a horse, or butchered and sold beef that bore a
neighbor's brand. Yet there was something about Pete that impressed
The Spider more deeply than mere horse- or cattle-stealing could. The
youth's eye was not the eye of a thief. He had not come to Showdown to
consort with rustlers. He was somewhat of a puzzle--but The Spider,
true to his name, was silently patient.
Meanwhile the desert sun rolled upward and onward, blazing down on the
huddled adobes, and slowly filtering into the room. With his back to
the bar, Pete idly flicked bits of a broken match at a knot-hole in the
floor.
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