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The pink flooded her cheeks. "Yes." "And because you won't be Soapy Stone's friend?" She flashed a startled look at him. "How do you know?" "Jealous, is he?" Her face, buried in the blooms she had been cutting, was of the same tint as the roses. "And so he wants to hurt you through him?" Flandrau added. "Yes. If he can drag Sam down and get him into trouble he'll pay off two grudges at once.
The first thing that Flandrau did was to walk toward the outskirts of the town where he could think it out by himself. But in this little old planet events do not always occur as a man plans them. Before he reached Arroyo street Curly came plump against his old range-mate Slats Davis. The assistant foreman of the Hashknife nodded as he passed.
Cullison also had his back to the door, but the man hung his broad-rimmed gray hat on the rack beside an exactly similar one that belonged to the owner of the Circle C and moved leisurely forward till he was within range of his vision. "Going to prove up soon on that Del Oro claim of yours, Luck?" asked Flandrau.
He had made himself a power in the Southwest because he was the type that goes the limit when aroused. Yet about him, too, there was the manner of a large amiability, of the easy tolerance characteristic of the West. While Alec Flandrau shuffled and dealt, the players relaxed. Cigars were relit, drinks ordered. Conversation reverted to the ordinary topics that interested Cattleland.
You haven't even proved he took Mr. Cullison's hat; you've merely showed he may have done it." "We've given you a motive and some evidence. How much more do you want?" Curly demanded. "Hold your hawses a while, Flandrau, and look at this thing reasonable. You're all prejudiced for Cullison and against Fendrick. Talk about evidence!
The man hesitated. His own revolver moved a few inches toward his head. Hastily he took off the mask. The moon shone on the face of the man called Dutch. Flandrau laughed. Last time they had met Curly had a rope around his neck. Now the situation was reversed. An explosion below told them that the robbers had blown open the safe. Presently Soapy's voice came faintly to them.
About daybreak he began to see his way into the maze. His first gleam of light was when a row started between Soapy and Cullison. Before anyone could say a word to stop them they were going through with that identical corral quarrel. Flandrau knew now they had been preparing it for his benefit. Cranston chipped in against Sam, and to keep up appearances Curly backed the boy.
Had he seen them with Bad Bill and Blackwell? Were his suspicions already active? "No, I'm riding for the Map of Texas," Flandrau answered evenly. "Come on, Curly. Let's go feed our faces," Mac called from the stable. Flandrau nodded. "You still with the Hashknife?" he asked Davis. "Still with 'em. I've been raised to assistant foreman." "Bully for you. That's great. All right, Mac. I'm coming.
Take the stage in to-morrow." "No. I'm coming to-night. I'll bring Bob. Save us two rooms at the hotel." "Better wait till to-morrow. Forty miles is a long ride, lass." "No, I can't wait. Have Curly Flandrau come to the Del Mar if he's in town and Dick Maloney, too. That's all. Good-by." She turned to her cousin, who was standing big-eyed at her elbow. "What is it, Kate?
To Flandrau the news seemed too good for the truth. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had been waiting for the end of the road with a rope around his neck. Now he was free to slip a saddle on his pony Keno and gallop off as soon as he pleased. How such a change had been brought about he did not yet understand.
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