"Well," he said good naturedly, "I'm waitin'."
"Good," said the stranger, "I won't keep you here any longer than is
necessary. In the first place my name is Tex Calder."
Hardy changed as if a slight layer of dust had been sifted over his
face. He stretched out his hand.
"It's great to see you, Calder," he said, "of course I've heard
about you. Everyone has. Here! I'll send over to the saloon for some
red-eye. Are you dry?"
He rose, but Calder waved him back to the swivel-chair.
"Not dry a bit," he said cheerily. "Not five minutes ago I had a drink
of--water."
"All right," said Hardy, and settled back into his chair.
"Hardy, there's been crooked work around here."
"What in hell--"
"Get your hand away from that gun, friend."
"What the devil's the meaning of all this?"
"That's very well done," said Calder. "But this isn't the stage. Are
we going to talk business like friends?"
"I've got nothing agin you," said Hardy testily, and his eyes followed
Calder's right hand as if fascinated. "What do you want to say? I'll
listen. I'm not very busy."
"That's exactly it," smiled Tex Calder, "I want you to get busier."
"Thanks."
"In the first place I'll be straight with you.
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