Gale became conscious of an inward fire that threatened to overrun
his coolness. Other emotions harried his self-control. It seemed
as if sight of the man liberated or created a devil in Gale. And
at the bottom of his feelings there seemed to be a wonder at himself,
a strange satisfaction for the something that had come to him.
He stepped out of the doorway, down the couple of steps to the floor
of the saloon, and he staggered a little, simulating drunkenness.
He fell over the pool tables, jostled Mexicans at the bar, laughed
like a maudlin fool, and, with his hat slouched down, crowded here
and there. Presently his eye caught sight of the group of cowboys
whom he had before noticed with such interest.
They were still in a corner somewhat isolated. With fertile mind
working, Gale lurched over to them. He remembered his many
unsuccessful attempts to get acquainted with cowboys. If he were
to get any help from these silent aloof rangers it must be by
striking fire from them in one swift stroke. Planting himself
squarely before the two tall cowboys who were standing, he looked
straight into their lean, bronzed faces. He spared a full moment
for that keen cool gaze before he spoke.
"I'm not drunk. I'm throwing a bluff, and I mean to start a rough
house. I'm going to rush that damned bandit Rojas. It's to save
a girl--to give her lover, who is my friend, a chance to escape with her.
When I start a row my friend will try to slip out with her.
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