Some such feeling
sent a chill through Lawlor's blood.
"Hello!" called Calamity Ben.
"Humph!" grunted Lawlor.
"Got a visitor, Mr. Drew."
"Bring him in."
And Lawlor cleared his throat.
"All right, here he is."
The door closed, and Lawlor snapped the book shut.
"Drew!" said a low voice.
The cowpuncher turned in his chair. He had intended to rise, but at the
sound of that controlled menace he knew that his legs were too weak to
answer that purpose. What he saw was a slender fellow, who stood with
his head somewhat lowered while his eyes peered down from under
contracted brows, as though the light were hurting them. His feet were
braced apart and his hands dropped lightly on his hips--the very picture
of a man ready to spring into action.
Under the great brush of his moustache, Lawlor set his teeth, but he was
instantly at ease; for if the sight of the stranger shook him to the
very centre, the other was even more obviously shocked by what he saw.
The hands dropped limp from his hips and dangled idly at his sides; his
body straightened almost with a jerk, as though he had been struck
violently, and now, instead of that searching look, he was blinking down
at his host.
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