He was seeing what was not possible to see; his eyes were telling his brain in definite terms: "There sits Andrew Lanning and ten thousand dollars," But the reason of Dozier was speaking no less decidedly: "There sits a man without a weapon at his hip and actually beneath the poster which offers a reward for the capture of the person he resembles. Also, he is in a restaurant in the middle of a town. I have only to raise my voice in order to surround him."
And reason gained the upper hand, though Dozier continued to look at Andrew in a fascinated manner. Suddenly the outlaw knew that it would not do to disregard that glance so long continued. To disregard it would be to start the suspicions of Dozier as soon as his brain cleared, and the least spark would at once send the man hunter into a flame of conviction.
"Hello, stranger," said Andrew, and he merely made his voice a trifle husky and deep. "D'you know me?" The eyes of Dozier widened, there was a convulsive motion of his arm, and then his glance wandered slowly away.
"Excuse me," he said. "I thought I remembered your face."
Should he let it rest at that? No, better risk a finishing touch. "No harm done," he said in the same loud voice. "Hey, captain, another cup of coffee, will you? And a cigar,"
He tilted back in his chair. He was about to begin whistling, but feeling that this would be a trifle too brazen, he merely folded his hands behind his head and began to hum. And all the time his nerves were jumping, and that old frenzy was taking him by the throat, that bulldog eagerness for the fight. But fight empty-handed—and against Hal Dozier?
