It was a silent dog, but its teeth and eyes said enough to stop Fatty in full career.
"Are you Barry ?" he asked.
"That's me.

Come here, Bart." The big dog backed to the other side of the horse without shifting his eyes from the marshal.

The latter gingerly approached the rider, who sat perfectly at ease in the saddle; most apparently he was in no haste to leave.
"Barry," said the deputy, "don't make no play when I tell you who I am; I don't mean you no harm, but my name's Matthews, and--" he drew back the flap of his vest enough to show the glitter of his badge of office.
All the time his little beady eyes watched Barry with bird-like intentness.

The rider made not a move.

And now Matthews noted more in detail the feminine slenderness of the man and the large, placid eyes.
He stepped closer and dropped a confidential hand on the pommel of the saddle.
"Son," he muttered, "I hear you made a clean play inside.