"
Whereupon Joe Hamby regarded him enviously. And old man Adams, with a
sly look out of his senile old eyes, jerked his thin old body across the
floor, dragging a chair after him, and sat down to entertain the lady.
Who, it would seem from the twitching of her lips, had been in reality
wooed out of herself and highly amused, when the interruption to the
quiet hour came, abruptly and without warning.
Poke Drury, willingly aided by the hungrier of his guests, had brought
in the cold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiled potatoes, quantities of
bread and butter and the last of Ma Drury's dried-apple pies. The long
dining table had begun to take on a truly festive air. The coffee was
boiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then the front door, the knob
turned and released from without, was blown wide open by the gusty wind
and a tall man stood in the black rectangle of the doorway. His
appearance and attitude were significant, making useless all conjecture.
A faded red bandana handkerchief was knotted about his face with rude
slits for the eyes. A broad black hat with flapping, dripping brim was
down over his forehead. In his two hands, the barrel thrust forward into
the room, was a sawed-off shotgun.
He did not speak, it being plain that words were utterly superfluous and
that he knew it.
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