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Tom flushed. "I don't reckon I'll go," he said after a moment's deliberation. His friend clapped an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Cards down, old fellow. Spill the story of this deadly feud between you and Jessie and I'll give you an outside opinion on it." The Montanan looked at him bleakly. "Haven't you heard? If you haven't, you're the only man in this country that hasn't."
Their years added would not total more than twoscore and five, but life had taken hold of them young and trained them to its purposes, had shot them through and through with hardihood and endurance and the cool prevision that forestalls disaster. "I'm in on this," the Montanan said. "Meaning?" "That I buy chips, take a hand, sit in, deal cards."
What's doin'?" he asked casually. Beresford, cool and quiet, looked straight at him. "I'll ask you that." "Kinda expensive to irrigate the prairie that way, ain't it?" "Doesn't cost me anything. How about you?" Morse laughed at the question fired back at him so promptly. This young man was very much on the job. "Not a bean," the Montanan said. "Good.
Don't say a word." Two arms shot skyward. In the fingers of one hand a rifle was clenched. Morse leaned forward and caught hold of it. "I'll take this," he said. The brown fingers relaxed. "Skirt round the edge of the rock there. Lie face down in that hollow. Got a six-shooter." He had. Morse took it from him. "If you move or speak one word, I'll pump lead into you," the Montanan cautioned.
Growls were their only comment when, under direction of Beresford, the Montanan stripped them of their weapons and kept guard on the fur-capped man his name appeared to be Lemoine while the latter brought the mules to the wagon pointed out by the officer. "Hook 'em," ordered Morse curtly. The French-Indian trapper hitched the team to the wagon.
You'd much better send me up." The officer laughed behind the hand that stroked the mustache. "Do you want to be judge and jury as well as prisoner, my lad?" "Thought perhaps my uncle would understand the spirit of your message better if Barney went along with me, Inspector." The brown eyes were open and guileless. MacLean studied the Montanan deliberately.
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