The second stranger, short-legged, barrel-chested, and with a scrub of black beard, entered the barroom while the crowd was still drinking the health of Morgan.

He took a corner chair, pushed back his hat until a mop of hair fell down his forehead, and began to roll a cigarette.

The man of the tawny hair took the next seat.
"Seems to be quite a party, stranger," said the tall fellow nonchalantly.
"Sure," growled he of the black beard, and after a moment he added: "Been out on the trail long, pardner ?" "Hardly started." "So'm I." "As a matter of fact, I've got a lot of hard riding before me." "So've I." "And some long riding, too." Perhaps it was because he turned his head suddenly towards the light, but a glint seemed to come in the eyes of the bearded man.
"Long rides," he said more amiably, "are sure hell on hosses." "And on men, too," nodded the other, and tilted back in his chair.
The bearded man spoke again, but though a dozen cowpunchers were close by no one heard his voice except the man at his side.

One side of his face remained perfectly immobile and his eyes stared straight before him drearily while he whispered from a corner of his mouth: "How long do you stay, Lee ?" "Noon," said Lee.
Once more the shorter man spoke in the manner which is learned in a penitentiary: "Me too.

We must be slated for the same ride, Lee.