The twitching
fingers on the pistol in his pocket relaxed into a calm and settled
tension. With long strides he made his way toward Brown's hotel.
There was death in his eyes; men who caught their gleam beneath a
lamplight, hastily avoided him. That Inez--at this time--should have
been taken from her home, abducted, frightened or harassed, was the sin
unpardonable. For it he meant to exact a capital punishment. The law,
just then, meant to him nothing; only the primitive instinct of an
outraged man controlled his mind.
At the bar he paused. "Where's McTurpin, where's Gasket?" he demanded,
harshly.
The bartender observed him with suspicion and uneasiness. "Don't know.
Haven't seen 'em since they started out with you," he answered.
Stanley left the room without another word.
He struck across the Plaza, entering the Eldorado gambling house. There
he ordered a drink, gulped it, made, more quietly, a survey of the room.
He scanned the players carefully. Spear sat at one of the tables, toying
with a pile of chips and stroking his chin reflectively as he surveyed
three cards.
"Give me two. Hello, there, Adrian. Good Lord! what's up?"
"Have you seen McTurpin or his friend, Ned Gasket?" He tried to speak
quietly.
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