“Next time you have anything to say to me write me a note.”
My eyes were on the two guards. Would they go into action?
“You burnt up one note,” he complained.
“And I intend to burn up the rest,” I said, and slammed the door.
“Ten thousand dollars,” he piped after me. “Ten thousand dollars for
possession of that homestead for thirty days.”
Abruptly, I turned and came back. I could see that he thought the money
tempted me and an oily smile smirked over his flabby face. He had opened
a drawer, and his thick fingers were plucking forth one-hundred-dollar
bank notes, stacking them up before my eyes.
“There was one thing I overlooked telling you,” I said. “I’m getting
tired of someone around here. If it’s you, this is your warning.”
His eyes grew vacant, puzzled.
I slammed the door, this time for good. He had had his warning. The
future was up to him.
I mounted the black and swung out in a wide circle, riding so that I
would go past the place where I had seen the burning buildings. That
homestead commenced to interest me.
The charred buildings still gave forth little wisps of white smoke. The
fire had been complete and there was not so much as a cornerpost left
standing. A clump of horses were fastened to a fence, and the horses
bore the brand of the Half Box. I sneered. Whatever the fat man might
have said, the fire had served to put him in possession— Yet he had
offered ten thousand for possession for the next thirty days. Evidently
he feared an attack, feared an attack that his men would not be able to
repel.
A figure waddled to the group of ponies, and presently a horse cut out
from the bunch. The mounted figure swung in a half-circle to intercept
me.
“I wouldn’t go no closer,” he said pleasantly. “There’s been a fire and
we’re trying to keep whatever evidence there may be intact so we can
show the sheriff what happened.”