The Trail to Yesterday

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER IX

  STRICTLY BUSINESS

  For two or three quiet weeks Sheila did not see much of Duncan, and herfather bothered her very little. Several nights on the gallery of theranchhouse she had seen the two men sitting very close together, and onone or two occasions she had overheard scraps of conversation carried onbetween them in which Doubler's name was mentioned.

  She remembered Doubler as one of the nesters whom Duncan had mentionedthat day on the butte overlooking the river, and though her father andDuncan had a perfect right to discuss him, it seemed to Sheila that therehad been a serious note in their voices when they had mentioned his name.

  She had become acquainted with Doubler. Since discontinuing her rides withher father and Duncan she had gone out every day alone, though she wascareful to avoid any crossing in the river which looked the leastsuspicious. Such crossings as she could ford were few, and for that reasonshe was forced to ride most of the time to the Two Forks, where there wasan excellent shallow, with long slopes sweeping up to the plains on bothsides.

  The first time that she crossed at the Two Forks she had come upon a smalladobe cabin situated a few hundred yards back from the water's edge.

  Sheila would have fled from the vicinity, for there was still fresh in hermind a recollection of another cabin in which she had once passed manyfearsome hours, but while she hesitated, on the verge of flight, Doublercame to the door, and when she saw that he was an old man with a kindlyface, much of her perturbation vanished, and she remained to talk.

  Doubler was hospitable and solicitous and supplied her with some sodabiscuit and fresh beef and a tin cup full of delicious coffee. She refusedto enter the cabin, and so he brought the food out to her and sat on thestep beside her while she ate, betraying much interest in her.

  Doubler asked no questions regarding her identity, and Sheila marveledmuch over this. But when she prepared to depart she understood why he hadbetrayed no curiosity concerning her.

  "I reckon you're that Langford girl?" he said.

  "Yes," returned Sheila, wondering. "I am Sheila Langford. But who toldyou? I was not aware that anyone around here knew me--except the people atthe Double R."

  "Dakota told me."

  "Oh!" A chill came into her voice which instantly attracted Doubler'sattention. He looked at her with an odd smile.

  "You know Dakota?"

  "I have met him."

  "You don't like him, I reckon?"

  "No."

  "Well, now," commented Doubler, "I reckon I've got things mixed. But fromDakota's talk I took it that you an' him was pretty thick."

  "His talk?" Sheila remembered Dakota's statement that he had told no oneof their relations. So he _had_ been talking, after all! She was notsurprised, but she was undeniably angry and embarrassed to think thatperhaps all the time she had been talking to Doubler he might have beenappraising her on the basis of her adventure with Dakota.

  "What has he been saying?" she demanded coldly.

  "Nothing, ma'am. That is, nothin' which any man wouldn't say about you,once he'd seen you an' talked some to you." Doubler surveyed her withsparkling, appreciative eyes.

  "As a rule it don't pay to go to gossipin' with anyone--least of all witha woman. But I reckon I can tell you what he said, ma'am, without yougettin' awful mad. He didn't say nothin' except that he'd taken an awfulshine to you. An' he'd likely make things mighty unpleasant for me if he'dfind that I'd told you that."

  "Shine?" There was a world of scornful wonder in Sheila's voice. "Wouldyou mind telling me what 'taking a shine' to anyone means?"

  "Why, no, I reckon I don't mind, ma'am, seein' that it's you. 'Takin' ashine' to you means that he's some stuck on you--likes you, that is. An' Ireckon you can't blame him much for doin' that."

  Sheila did not answer, though a sudden flood of red to her face made theuse of mere words entirely unnecessary so far as Doubler was concerned,for he smiled wisely.

  Sheila fled down the trail toward the crossing without a parting word toDoubler, leaving him standing at the door squinting with amusement at her.But on the morrow she had returned, determined to discover something ofDakota, to learn something of his history since coming into the country,or at the least to see if she could not induce Doubler to disclose hisreal name.

  She was unsuccessful. Dakota had never taken Doubler into his confidence,and the information that she succeeded in worming from the nester was notmore than he had already volunteered, or than Duncan had given her thatday when they were seated on the edge of the butte overlooking the river.

  She was convinced that Doubler had told her all he knew, and she wonderedat the custom which permitted friendship on the basis of such meagerknowledge.

  She quickly grew to like Doubler. He showed a fatherly interest in her andalways greeted her with a smile when during her rides she came to hiscabin, or when she met him, as she did frequently, on the open range. Hismanner toward her was always cordial, and he seemed not to have a care.One morning, however, she rode up to the door of the cabin and Doubler'sface was serious. He stood quietly in the doorway, watching her as she saton her pony, not offering to assist her down as he usually did, and sheknew instantly that something had happened to disturb his peace of mind.He did not invite her into the cabin.

  "Ma'am," he said, and Sheila detected regret in his voice, "I'm a heapsorry, but of course you won't be comin' here any more."

  "I don't see why!" returned Sheila in surprise. "I like to come here. But,of course, if you don't want me----"

  "It ain't that," he interrupted quickly. "I thought you knowed. But youdon't, of course, or you wouldn't have come just now. Your dad an' Duncanwas over to see me yesterday."

  "I didn't know that," returned Sheila. "But I can't see why a visit fromfather should----"

  "He's wantin' me to pull my freight out of the country," said Doubler "An'of course I ain't doin' it. Therefore I'm severin' diplomatic relationswith your family."

  "I don't see why----" began Sheila, puzzled to understand why a mere visiton her father's part should have the result Doubler had announced.

  "Of course you don't," Doubler told her. "You're a woman an' don'tunderstand such things. But in this country when a little owner has gotsome land which a big owner wants--an' can't buy--there's likely to betrouble. I ain't proved on my land yet, an' if your dad can run me offhe'll be pretty apt to grab it somehow or other. But he ain't runnin' meoff an' so there's a heap of trouble comin'. An' of course while there'strouble you won't be comin' here any more after this. Likely your dadwouldn't have it. I'm sorry, too. I like you a lot."

  "I don't see why father should want your land," Sheila told him gravely,much disturbed at this unexpected development. "There is plenty of landhere." She swept a hand toward the plains.

  "There ain't enough for some people," grimly laughed Doubler. "Some peopleis hawgs--askin' your pardon, ma'am. I wasn't expectin' your father to belike that, after seein' you. I was hopin' that we'd be able to get along.I've had some trouble with Duncan--not very long ago. Once I had to speakpretty plain to him. I expect he's been fillin' your dad up."

  "I'll see father about it." Sheila's face was red with a painedembarrassment. "I am sure that father will not make any trouble foryou--he isn't that kind of man."

  "He's that kind of a man, sure enough," said Doubler gravely. "I reckonI've got him sized up right. He ain't in no way like you, ma'am. If youhadn't told me I reckon I wouldn't have knowed he is your father."

  "He is my stepfather," admitted Sheila.

  "I knowed it!" declared Doubler. "I'm too old to be fooled by what I seein a man's face--or in a woman's face either. Don't you go to say anythingabout this business to him. He's bound to try to run me off. He done saidso. I don't know when I ever heard a man talk any meaner than he did. Saidthat if I didn't sell he'd make things mighty unpleasant for me. An' so Ireckon there's goin' to be some fun."

  Sheila did not remain long at Doubler's cabin, for her mind was in a riotof rage and resentm
ent against her father for his attitude toward Doubler,and she cut short her ride in the hope of being able to have a talk withhim before he left the ranchhouse. But when she returned she was told byDuncan's sister that Langford had departed some hours before--alone. Hehad not mentioned his destination.

  * * * * *

  Ben Doubler had omitted an important detail from his story of Langford'svisit to his cabin, for he had not cared to frighten Sheila unnecessarily.But as Langford rode toward Doubler's cabin this morning his thoughtspersisted in dwelling on Doubler's final words to him, spoken as he andDuncan had turned their horses to leave the nester's cabin the daybefore:

  "If it's goin' to be war, Langford, it ain't goin' to be no pussy-kittenaffair. I'm warnin' you to stay away from the Two Forks. If I ketch you orany of your men nosin' around there I'm goin' to bore you some rapid."

  Langford had sneered then, and he sneered now as he rode toward the river,for he had no doubt that Doubler had uttered the threat in a spirit ofbravado. Of course, he told himself as he rode, the man was forced to saysomething, but the idea of him being serious in the threat to shoot anyone who came to the Two Forks was ridiculous.

  All his life Langford had heard threats from the lips of his victims, andthus far they had remained only threats. He had determined to see Doublerthis morning, for he had noticed that the nester had appeared ill at easein the presence of Duncan, and he anticipated that alone he could forcehim to accept terms. When he reached the crossing at Two Forks he urgedhis pony through its waters, his face wearing a confident smile.

  There was an open stretch of grass land between the crossing and Doubler'scabin, and when Langford urged his pony up the sloping bank of the riverhe saw the nester standing near the door of the cabin, watching. Langfordwas about to force his pony to a faster pace, when he saw Doubler raise arifle to his shoulder. Still, he continued to ride forward, but he pulledthe pony up shortly when he saw the flame spurt from the muzzle of therifle and heard the shrill hiss of the bullet as it passed dangerouslynear to him.

  No words were needed, and neither man spoke any. Without stopping to giveDoubler an opportunity to speak, Langford wheeled his pony, and with awhite, scared face, bending low over the animal's mane to escape anybullets which might follow the first, rapidly recrossed the river. Once onthe crest of the hill on the opposite side he turned, and trembling withrage and fear, shook a clenched hand at Doubler. The latter's reply was astrident laugh.

  Langford returned to the ranchouse, riding slowly, though in his heart wasa riot of rage and hatred against the nester. It was war, to be sure. Butnow that Doubler had shown in no unmistakable manner that he had not beentrifling the day before, Langford was no longer in doubt as to the methodhe would have to employ in his attempt to gain possession of his land.Doubler, he felt, had made the choice.

  The ride to the ranchhouse took long, but by the time Langford arrivedthere he had regained his composure, saying nothing to anyone concerninghis adventure.

  For three days he kept his own counsel, riding out alone, taciturn, givingmuch thought to the situation. Sheila had intended to speak to himregarding the trouble with Doubler, but his manner repulsed her and shekept silent, hoping that the mood would pass. However, the mood did notpass. Langford continued to ride out alone, maintaining a moody silence,sitting alone much with his own thoughts and allowing no one to break downthe barrier of taciturnity which he had erected.

  On the morning of the fifth day after his adventure with Doubler he wassitting on the ranchhouse gallery with Duncan, enjoying an after-breakfastcigar, when he said casually to the latter:

  "I take it that folks in this country are mighty careless with theirweapons."

  Duncan grinned. "You might call it careless," he returned. "No doubt thereare people--people who come out here from the East--who think that a manwho carries a gun out here is careless with it. But I reckon that when aman draws a gun here he draws it with a pretty definite purpose."

  "I have heard," continued Langford slowly, "that there are men in thiscountry who do not hesitate to kill other people for money."

  "Meaning that there are road agents and such?" questioned Duncan.

  "Naturally, that particular kind would be included. I meant, howeveranother kind--I believe they are called 'bad men,' are they not? Men whokill for hire?"

  Duncan cast a furtive glance at Langford out of the corners of his eyes,but could draw no conclusions concerning the latter's motive in asking thequestion from the expression of his face.

  "Such men drift in occasionally," he returned, convinced that Langford'scuriosity was merely casual--as Langford desired him to consider it."Usually, though, they don't stay long."

  "I suppose there are none of that breed around here--in Lazette, forinstance. It struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily handy with a gun."

  He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, though Duncan did not answer,his face had grown suddenly dark with passion, as it always did whenDakota's name was mentioned. Langford smiled subtly. "I suppose," he said,"that Dakota might be called a bad man."

  Duncan's eyes flashed with venom. "I reckon Dakota's nothing but a damnedsneak!" he said, not being able to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

  Langford did not allow his smile to be seen; he had not forgotten theincident of the returning of Dakota's horse by Duncan.

  "He's a dead shot, though," he suggested.

  "I'm allowing that," grudgingly returned Duncan. "And," he added, "it'sbeen hinted that all his shooting scrapes haven't been on the level."

  "He is not straight, then?" said Langford, his eyes gleaming. "Not'square,' as you say in this country?"

  "I reckon there ain't nothing square about him," returned Duncan, glad ofan opportunity to defame his enemy.

  Again Langford did not allow Duncan to see his smile, and he deftlydirected the current of the conversation into other channels.

  He rode out again that day, taking the river trail and passing Dakota'scabin, but Dakota himself was nowhere to be seen and at dusk Langfordreturned to the Double R. During the evening meal he enveloped himselfwith a silence which proved impenetrable. He retired early, to Duncan'ssurprise, and the next morning, without announcing his plans to anyone,saddled his pony and rode away toward the river trail.

  He took a circuitous route to reach it, riding slowly, with the air andmanner of a man who is thinking deep thoughts, smiling much, though manytimes grimly.

  "Dakota isn't square," he said once aloud during one of his grim smiles.

  When he came to the quicksand crossing he halted and examined the earth inthe vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks and hoof prints in thehard sand near the water's edge. Then he rode on.

  Two or three miles from the quicksand crossing he came suddenly uponDakota's cabin. Dakota himself was repairing a saddle in the shade of thecabin wall, and for all that Langford could see he was entirely unaware ofhis approach. He saw Dakota look up when he passed the corral gate, andwhen he reached a point about twenty feet distant he observed a faintsmile on Dakota's face.

  "Howdy, stranger," came the latter's voice.

  "How are you, my friend?" greeted Langford easily.

  It was not hard for Langford to adopt an air of familiarity toward the manwho had figured prominently in his thoughts during a great many of theprevious twenty-four hours. He dismounted from his pony, hitched theanimal to a rail of the corral fence, and approached Dakota, standing infront of him and looking down at him with a smile.

  Dakota apparently took little interest in his visitor, for keeping hisseat on the box upon which he had been sitting when Langford had firstcaught sight of him, he continued to give his attention to the saddle.

  "I'm from the Double R," offered Langford, feeling slightly lessimportant, conscious that somehow the familiarity that he had felt existedbetween them a moment before was a singularly fleeting thing.

  "I noticed that," responded Dakota, still busy with his saddle.
>
  "How?"

  "I reckon that you've forgot that your horse has got a brand on him?"

  "You've got keen eyes, my friend," laughed Langford.

  "Have I?" Dakota had not looked at Langford until now, and as he spoke heraised his head and gazed fairly into the latter's eyes.

  For a moment neither man moved or spoke. It seemed to Langford, as hegazed into the steely, fathomless blue of the eyes which held his--heldthem, for now as he looked it was the first time in his life that his gazehad met a fellow being's steadily--that he could see there anunmistakable, grim mockery. And that was all, for whatever other emotionsDakota felt, they were invisible to Langford. He drew a deep breath,suddenly aware that before him was a man exactly like himself in onerespect--skilled in the art of keeping his emotions to himself. Langfordhad not met many such men; usually he was able to see clear through aman--able to read him. But this man he could not read. He was puzzled andembarrassed over the discovery. His gaze finally wavered; he looked away.

  "A man don't have to have such terribly keen eyes to be able to see abrand," observed Dakota, drawling; "especially when he's passed a wholelot of his time looking at brands."

  "That's so," agreed Langford. "I suppose you have been a cowboy a longtime."

  "Longer than you've been a ranch owner."

  Langford looked quickly at Dakota, for now the latter was again busy withhis saddle, but he could detect no sarcasm in his face, though plainlythere had been a subtle quality of it in his voice.

  "Then you know me?" he said.

  "No. I don't know you. I've put two and two together. I heard that Duncanwas selling the Double R. I've seen your daughter. And you ride up here ona Double R horse. There ain't no other strangers in the country. Then, ofcourse, you're the new owner of the Double R."

  Langford looked again at the inscrutable face of the man beside him andfelt a sudden deep respect for him. Even if he had not witnessed thekilling of Texas Blanca that day in Lazette he would have known the manbefore him for what he was--a quiet, cool, self-possessed man of muchexperience, who could not be trifled with.

  "That's right," he admitted; "I am the new owner of the Double R. And Ihave come, my friend, to thank you for what you did for my daughter."

  "She told you, then?" Dakota's gaze was again on Langford, an odd light inhis eyes.

  "Certainly."

  "She's told you what?"

  "How you rescued her from the quicksand."

  Dakota's gaze was still on his visitor, quiet, intent. "She tell youanything else?" he questioned slowly.

  "Why, what else is there to tell?" There was sincere curiosity inLangford's voice, for Sheila had always told him everything that happenedto her. It was not like her to keep anything secret from him.

  "Did she tell you that she forgot to thank me for saving her?" There was aqueer smile on Dakota's lips, a peculiar, pleased glint in his eyes.

  "No, she neglected to relate that," returned Langford.

  "Forgot it. That's what I thought. Do you think she forgot itintentionally?"

  "It wouldn't be like her."

  "Of course not. And so she's sent _you_ over to thank me! Tell her nothanks are due. And if she inquires, tell her that the pony didn't make asound or a struggle when I shot him."

  "As it happens, she didn't send me," smiled Langford. "There was theexcitement, of course, and I presume she forgot to thank you--possiblywill ride over herself some day to thank you personally. But she didn'tsend me--I came without her knowledge."

  "To thank me--for her?"

  "No."

  "You're visiting then. Or maybe just riding around to look at your range.Sit down." He motioned to another box that stood near the door of thecabin.

  Once Langford became seated Dakota again busied himself with the saddle,ignoring his visitor. Langford shifted uneasily on the box, for the seatwas not to his liking and the attitude of his host was most peculiar. Hefell silent also and kicked gravely and absently into a hummock with thetoe of his boot.

  Singularly enough, a plan which had taken form in his mind since Doublerhad shot at him seemed suddenly to have many defects, though until now ithad seemed complete enough. Out of the jumble of thoughts that had riotedin his brain after his departure from Two Forks crossing had risen aconviction. Doubler was a danger and a menace and must be removed. Andthere was no legal way to remove him, for though he had not proved on hisland he was entitled to it to the limit set by the law, or until hisdeath.

  Langford's purpose in questioning Duncan had been to learn of the presenceof someone in the country who would not be averse to removing Doubler. Thepossibility of disposing of the nester in this manner had been before himever since he had learned of his presence on the Two Forks. He had notbeen surprised when Duncan had mentioned Dakota as being a probable tool,for he had thought over the occurrence of the shooting in Lazette manytimes, and had been much impressed with Dakota's coolness and his sataniccleverness with a six-shooter, and it seemed that it would be a simplematter to arrange with him for the removal of Doubler. Yes, it had seemedsimple enough when he had planned it, and when Duncan had told him thatDakota was not on the "square."

  But now, looking covertly at the man, he found that he was not quitecertain in spite of what Duncan had said. He had mentally worked out hisplan of approaching Dakota many times. But now the defect in the planseemed to be that he had misjudged his man--that Duncan had misjudged him.Plainly he would make a mistake were he to approach Dakota with a boldrequest for the removing of the nester--he must clothe it. Thus, after along silence, he started obliquely.

  "My friend," he said, "it must be lonesome out here for you."

  "Not so lonesome."

  "It's a big country, though--lots of land. There seems to be no end toit."

  "That's right, there's plenty of it. I reckon the Lord wasn't in a stingymood when he made it."

  "Yet there seem to be restrictions even here."

  "Restrictions?"

  "Yes," laughed Langford; "restrictions on a man's desires."

  Dakota looked at him with a saturnine smile. "Restrictions on a man'sdesires," he repeated slowly. Then he laughed mirthlessly. "Some peoplewouldn't be satisfied if they owned the whole earth. They'd be wanting thesun, moon, and stars thrown in for good measure."

  Langford laughed again. "That's human nature, my friend," he contended,determined not to be forced to digress from the main subject. "Have yougot everything you want? Isn't there anything besides what you alreadyhave that appeals to you? Have you no ambition?"

  "There are plenty of things I want. Maybe I'd be modest, though, if I hadambition. We all want a lot of things which we can't get."

  "Correct, my friend. Some of us want money, others desire happiness, stillothers are after something else. As you say, some of use are neversatisfied--the ambitious ones."

  "Then you are ambitious?"

  "You've struck it," smiled Langford.

  Dakota caught his gaze, and there was a smile of derision on his lips."What particular thing are _you_ looking for?" he questioned.

  "Land."

  "Mine?" Dakota's lips curled a little. "Doubler's, then," he added asLangford shook his head with an emphatic, negative motion. "He's the onlyman who's got land near yours."

  "That's correct," admitted Langford; "I want Doubler's land."

  There was a silence for a few minutes, while Langford watched Dakotafurtively as the latter gave his entire attention to his saddle.

  "You've got all the rest of those things you spoke about, then--happiness,money, and such?" said Dakota presently, in a low voice.

  "Yes. I am pretty well off there."

  "All you want is Doubler's land?" He stopped working with the saddle andlooked at Langford. "I reckon, if you've got all those things, that youought to be satisfied. But of course you ain't satisfied, or you wouldn'twant Doubler's land. Did you offer to buy it?"

  "I asked him to name his own figure, and he wouldn't sell--wouldn't evenconsider selling, th
ough I offered him what I considered a fair price."

  "That's odd, isn't it? You'd naturally think that money could buyeverything. But maybe Doubler has found happiness on his land. Youcouldn't buy that from a man, you know. I suppose you care a lot aboutDoubler's happiness--you wouldn't want to take his land if you knew he washappy on it? Or don't it make any difference to you?" There was faintsarcasm in his voice.

  "As it happens," said Langford, reddening a little, "this isn't a questionof happiness--it is merely business. Doubler's land adjoins mine. I wantto extend my holdings. I can't extend in Doubler's direction becauseDoubler controls the water rights. Therefore it is my business to see thatDoubler gets out."

  "And sentiment has got no place in business. That right? It doesn't makeany difference to you that Doubler doesn't want to sell; you want hisland, and that settles it--so far as you are concerned. You don't considerDoubler's feelings. Well, I don't know but that's the way things arerun--one man keeps what he can and another gets what he is able to get.What are you figuring to do about Doubler?"

  Langford glanced at Dakota with an oily, significant smile. "I am new tothe country, my friend," he said. "I don't know anything about the usualcustom employed to force a man to give up his land. Could you suggestanything?"

  Dakota deliberately took up a wax-end, rolled it, and squinted his eyes ashe forced the end of the thread through the eye of the needle which heheld in the other hand. So far as Langford could see he exhibited noemotion whatever; his face was inscrutable; he might not have heard.

  Yet Langford knew that he had heard; was certain that he grasped the fullmeaning of the question; probably felt some emotion over it, and wasmasking it by appearing to busy himself with the saddle. Langford'srespect for him grew and he wisely kept silent, knowing that in timeDakota would answer. But when the answer did come it was not the one thatLangford expected. Dakota's eyes met his in a level gaze.

  "Why don't you shoot him yourself?" he said, drawling his words a little.

  "Not taking any chances?" Dakota's voice was filled with a cold sarcasm ashe continued, after an interval during which Langford kept a discreetlystill tongue. "Your business principles don't take you quite that far, eh?And so you've come over to get me to shoot him? Why didn't you say so inthe beginning--it would have saved all this time." He laughed coldly.

  "What makes you think that you could hire me to put Doubler out ofbusiness?"

  "I saw you shoot Blanca," said Langford. "And I sounded Duncan." It didnot disturb him to discover that Dakota had all along been aware of theobject of his visit. It rather pleased him, in fact, to be given proof ofthe man's discernment--it showed that he was deep and clever.

  "You saw me shoot Blanca," said Dakota with a strange smile, "and Duncantold you I was the man to put Doubler away. Those are my recommendations."His voice was slightly ironical, almost concealing a slight harshness."Did Duncan mention that he was a friend of mine?" he asked. "No?" Hissmile grew mocking. "Just merely mentioned that I was uncommonly clever inthe art of getting people--undesirable people--out of the way. Don't getthe idea, though, because Duncan told you, that I make a business ofshooting folks. I put Blanca out of the way because it was a question ofhim or me--I shot him to save my own hide. Shooting Doubler would be quiteanother proposition. Still----" He looked at Langford, his eyes narrowingand smoldering with a mysterious fire.

  It seemed that he was inviting Langford to make a proposal, and the lattersmiled evilly. "Still," he said, repeating Dakota's word with asignificant inflection, "you don't refuse to listen to me. It would beworth a thousand dollars to me to have Doubler out of the way," he added.

  It was out now, and Langford sat silent while Dakota gazed into thedistance that reached toward the nester's cabin. Langford watched Dakotaclosely, but there was an absolute lack of expression in the latter'sface.

  "How are you offering to pay the thousand?" questioned Dakota. "Andwhen?"

  "In cash, when Doubler isn't here any more."

  Dakota looked up at him, his face a mask of immobility. "That _sounds_ allright," he said, with slow emphasis. "I reckon you'll put it in writing?"

  Langford's eyes narrowed; he smiled craftily. "That," he said smoothly,"would put me in your power. I have never been accused of being a fool byany of the men with whom I have done business. Don't you think that at myage it is a little late to start?"

  "I reckon we don't make any deal," laughed Dakota shortly.

  "We'll arrange it this way," suggested Langford. "Doubler is not the onlyman I want to get rid of. I want your land, too. But"--he added as he sawDakota's lips harden--"I don't purpose to proceed against you in themanner I am dealing with Doubler. I flatter myself that I know men quitewell. I'd like to buy your land. What would be a fair price for it?"

  "Five thousand."

  "We'll put it this way, then," said Langford, briskly and silkily. "I willgive you an agreement worded in this manner: 'One month after date Ipromise to pay to Dakota the sum of six thousand dollars, in considerationof his rights and interest in the Star brand, provided that within onemonth from date he persuades Ben Doubler to leave Union county.'" Helooked at Dakota with a significant smile. "You see," he said, "that I amnot particularly desirous of being instrumental in causing Doubler'sdeath--you have misjudged me."

  Dakota's eyes met his with a glance of perfect knowledge. His smilepossessed a subtly mocking quality--which was slightly disconcerting toLangford.

  "I reckon you'll be an angel--give you time," he said. "I am acceptingthat proposition, though," he added. "I've been wanting to leavehere--I've got tired of it. And"--he continued with a mysterioussmile--"if things turn out as I expect, you'll be glad to have me go." Herose from the bench. "Let's write that agreement," he suggested.

  They entered the cabin, and a few minutes later Dakota sat again on thebox in the lee of the cabin wall, mending his saddle, the signed agreementin his pocket. Smiling, Langford rode the river trail, satisfied with theresult of his visit. Turning once--as he reached the rise upon whichSheila had halted that morning after leaving Dakota's cabin, Langfordlooked back. Dakota was still busy with his saddle. Langford urged hispony down the slope of the rise and vanished from view. Then Dakota ceasedworking on the saddle, drew out the signed agreement and read it throughmany times.

  "That man," he said finally, looking toward the crest of the slope whereLangford had disappeared, "thinks he has convinced me that I ought to killmy best friend. He hasn't changed a bit--not a damned bit!"