He hesitated for an instant on the sidewalk, and a voice, seeming to come from nowhere in particular, whispered in his ear: "Neal Taggart's layin' for you!" When Calumet wheeled, his six-shooter was in his hand.

At his shoulder, having evidently followed him from across the street, stood a man.

He was lean-faced, hardy-looking, with a strong, determined jaw and steady, alert eyes.

He was apparently about fifty years of age.
He grinned at Calumet's belligerent motion.
"Hearin' me ?" he said to Calumet's cold, inquiring glance.
The latter's eyes glowed.

"Layin' for me, eh?
Thanks." He looked curiously at the other.