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He opened his lips to speak, but closed them again, surprised at the stray-man's appearance. During the months that Ferguson had worked at the Two Diamond, Stafford had not seen him as he looked at this moment. Never, during the many times the manager had seen him, had he been able to guess anything of the stray-man's emotions by looking at his face. Now, however, there had come a change.
He watched the stray-man's hands furtively, fearing the outcome of this meeting. But Ferguson's hands were nowhere near his guns. They were folded over his chest lightly the fingers of his right hand caressing his chin. "You ridin' up the crick to-day?" he questioned of Leviatt. His tone was mild, yet there was a peculiar quality in it that hinted at hardness.
But they did not move from their places, nor did they neglect to keep a sharp, alert eye out for the stray-man's appearance. And when they saw him come out of the door of the office they neglected to joke or laugh, but stood silent, with the thirty or forty feet of space between them, their faces paling a little, their hearts laboring a little harder.
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