And that was Henry
Plummer, that killed a hundred men, him an' his gang."
"H-m-m," murmured the sheriff, and looked uneasily about. Now that his eyes
were turned away, Vic could study him at leisure, and he wondered at the
smallness of the man. Suppose one were able to lay hands on him it would be
easy to--
"See you later, boys," drawled Glass, and sauntered from the room.
Lew Perkins sighed as the most important part of his audience disappeared,
but having started talking the impetus carried him along, he held Vic Gregg
with his hazy eyes.
"But they didn't all finish like Plummer, not all the bad ones. No sirree!
There was Boone Helm."
"I've heard about him," growled Vic, but the old man had fixed his glance
and his reminiscent smile upon the past and his voice was soft with
distance when he spoke again.
"Helm was a sure enough bad one, son. They don't grow like him no more.
Wild Bill was a baby compared with Helm, and Slade wasn't no man at all,
even leavin' in the lies they tell about him. Why, son, Helm was just a
lobo, in the skin of a man--"
"Like Barry?" put in Lorrimer, drifting closer down the bar.
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