Part 22 (1/2)

”If I had a thousand dollars I'd dust it for Mexico tomorrow,” said Reid. He turned to Mackenzie, pus.h.i.+ng his hat back from his forehead, letting the sun on his savagely knotted face. ”I haven't got money to send a telegram, not even a special delivery letter! Look at me! A millionaire's son and sole heir, up against a proposition like this for three years!”

Mackenzie let him sweat it out, offering neither water for his thirst nor wood for his fire. Reid sat in surly silence, running his thumb along his cartridge belt.

”A man's friends forget him out here,” he complained; ”he's the same to them as dead.”

”It's the way everywhere when a man wants to borrow money,” Mackenzie told him, not without the shade of a sneer.

”I've let them have enough in my time that they could afford to come across with what I asked for!”

”I think you'd better stick to the sheep business with Tim,”

Mackenzie advised, not unkindly, ashamed of his momentary weakness and scorn. ”A man's prospects don't look very good back home when a bunch of parasites and grafters won't come over with a little loan.”

”They can go to the devil! I can live without them.”

”And get fat on it, kid. Three years here will be little more to you than as many days, if you get--interested.”

Reid exclaimed impatiently, dismissing such a.s.surance with a testy gesture.

”How much will you give me for my chances?” he asked.

”n.o.body else can play your hand, kid.”

”On the square, Mackenzie. Will you give me a thousand dollars?”

”I'm not sole heir to any millionaire,” Mackenzie reminded him, taking the proposal in the jesting spirit that he supposed it was given.

”On the dead, Mackenzie--I mean it. Will you give me a thousand dollars for my place in the sheep game, girl and all? If you will, I'll hit the breeze tonight for Mexico and kick it all over to you, win or lose.”

”If I could buy you out for a dime we couldn't trade,” Mackenzie told him, a coldness in tone and manner that was more than a reproof.

”Joan ought to be worth that much to you!” Reid sneered.

Mackenzie got up, walked a few steps away, turned back presently, his temper in hand.

”It's not a question open to discussion between gentlemen,” he said.

Reid blinked up at him, an odd leer on his sophisticated face, saying no more. He made a pack on his saddle of the camp outfit, and started off along the ridge, leaving Mackenzie to follow as he pleased. A mile or more along Reid pitched upon a suitable camping place. He had himself established long before Mackenzie came to where he sat smoking amid his gloomy, impatient thoughts.

”I'm not going over to relieve that old skunk,” Reid announced, ”not without orders from Sullivan. If he gets off you'll have to relieve him yourself. I don't want that Hall guy to get it into his nut that I'm runnin' away from him.”

”All right, Earl,” said Mackenzie, good-naturedly, ”I'll go.”

”You'll be half an hour nearer Joan's camp--she'll have that much longer to stay,” said Reid, his mean leer creeping into his wide, thin lips again.

Mackenzie turned slowly to look him squarely in the eyes. He stood so a few seconds, Reid coloring in hot resentment of the silent rebuke.

”I've heard enough of that to last me the rest of your three years,”

Mackenzie said, something as hard as stones in a cus.h.i.+on under his calm voice.

Reid jerked his hip in his peculiar twisting movement to s.h.i.+ft his pistol belt, turned, and walked away.