Part 31 (1/2)

”You had one thousand dollars,” said Winston dryly.

Courthorne made a little gesture of resignation. ”It is, however, certain that I haven't got them now. They went as dollars usually do.

The fact is, I have met one or two men recently who apparently know rather more games of chance than I do, and I pa.s.sed on the fame, which was my most valuable a.s.set, to you.”

”You pa.s.sed me on the brand of a crime I never committed,” said Winston grimly. ”That, however, is not the question now. Not one dollar, except at the time agreed upon, will you get from me. Why did you come here dressed as we usually are on the prairie?”

Courthorne glanced down at the deerskin jacket and smiled as he straightened himself into a caricature of Winston's mounted att.i.tude.

It was done cleverly.

”When I ride in this fas.h.i.+on we are really not very unlike, you see, and I let one or two men I met get a good look at me,” he said. ”I meant it as a hint that it would be wise of you to come to terms with me.”

”I have done so already. You made the bargain.”

”Well,” said Courthorne, smiling, ”a contract may be modified at any time when both parties are willing.”

”One is not,” said Winston dryly. ”You heard my terms, and nothing that you can urge will move me a hairsbreadth from them.”

Courthorne looked at him steadily, and some men would have found his glance disconcerting, for now and then all the wickedness that was in him showed in his half-closed eyes. Still, he saw that the farmer was unyielding.

”Then we will let it go; in the meanwhile,” he said, ”take me across the bridge.”

They were half-way along it when he pulled the horse up, and once more looked down on Winston.

”Your hand is a tolerably good one so long as you are willing to sacrifice yourself, but it has its weak points, and there is one thing I could not tolerate,” he said.

”What is that?”

Courthorne laughed wickedly. ”You wish me to be explicit? Maud Barrington is devilishly pretty, but it is quite out of the question that you should ever marry her.”

Winston turned towards him with the veins on his forehead swollen.

”Granting that it is so, what is that to you?”

Courthorne nodded as if in comprehension. ”Well, I'm probably not consistent, but one rarely quite loses touch with everything, and if I believed that my kinswoman was growing fond of a beggarly prairie farmer, I'd venture to put a sudden stop to your love-making. This, at least, is perfectly bona fide, Winston.”

Winston had borne a good deal of late, and his hatred of the man flared up. He had no definite intention, but he moved a pace forward, and Courthorne touched the horse with his heel. It backed, and then, growing afraid of the blackness about it, plunged, while Winston for the first time saw that there was a gap in the loosely-laid planking close behind it. Another plunge or flounder, and horse and rider would go down together.

For a moment he held his breath and watched. Then, as the beast resisting its rider's efforts backed again, he sprang forward and seized the bridle.

”Get your spurs in! Shove him forward for your life,” he said.

There was a momentary struggle on the slippery planking, and, almost as its hind hoofs overhung the edge, Winston dragged the horse away.

Courthorne swung himself out of the saddle, left the farmer the bridle, and glanced behind him at the gap. Then he turned, and the two men looked at each other steadily. Their faces were a trifle paler than usual.

”You saw it?” asked Courthorne.

”Yes, but not until you backed the beast and he commenced plunging.”