However, there were doubters, since this affair had new
earmarks. It had been buzzed abroad that Whistling Dan was not only the
hunted, but also the hunter, and that he had pledged himself to strike down
all the seven who first took his trail. Five of these were already gone;
two remained, and of these two one was Vic Gregg, no despicable fighter
himself, and the other was no less than the invincible little sheriff
himself. To imagine the sheriff beaten in the speed of his draw or the
accuracy of his shot was to imagine the First Cause, Infinity, or whatever
else is inconceivable; nevertheless, there were such possibilities as
bullets fired at night through the window, and attacks from the rear. So
Rickett waited, and held its breath and kept his eyes rather more behind
than in front.
In the meantime, there was no lack of amusement, for from the four corners,
blown by the four winds, men rode out of the mountain-desert and drifted
into Rickett to seek for a place on that posse. Twenty men, that was the
goal the sheriff had set. Twenty men trained to a hair.
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