"Sager? What does _he_ want?"
"Wants to apologize for what Cactus done. He fired Cactus as soon as
he heard about the run-in with the sheriff, so he wants you to know he
ain't responsible. Cactus had no business layin' for you from that bank
window."
Brek shrugged. "Might as well go," he said. "I never figured Sager was
behind it anyway."
He headed to the bank. Sager was sitting behind his desk, flanked by a
couple of his gunmen. He was a lean, long-nosed man with cold eyes and
a narrow, thin-lipped mouth.
"You are Ed Calhoun?"
Brek nodded.
"I want you to know that I am sorry for what my ex-employee did. I do
not like that sort of thing." Sager's speech was stiff and formal, Brek
noted.
"I figured he was on his own," he said easily. "I didn't know of
nothin' you might have against me."
"There is nothing, I assure you. I understand you are leaving Plata
City."
"Yep. I'm headin' for Arizona--cattle country. I'm a cowman by trade."
"You are also a very good man with a gun. I need men like you. How
would you like to work for me?"
_It had worked_, Brek thought exultantly. Pretending to be about to
leave town had removed all suspicion from Sagginer's mind.
"Why, I reckon I might stay if the pay was good," Brek said
thoughtfully. "Long as a man makes a livin', it don't matter much
_what_ he does."
"I will make it well worth your while, Mr. Calhoun."
Brek drew his breath in sharply, fighting the temptation to shoot Sager
where he sat. It would eradicate one considerable blotch on the human
race, but it would also involve killing others and it still wouldn't
get Dori out of that house.
"Reckon I'll listen to your proposition, anyhow, Mr. Sager."
* * * * *
It was three days before Brek was asked up to the house. He knew his
time was running low. If Sager actually started mining operations on
his property, his death or disappearance wouldn't stop it. Someone
else would find the Great Silver Vein, and the time-stream would be
unalterably diverted, causing incalculable change in the world of the
future.
Brek's opening was a lucky one--a prowler had been caught, a Mexican
itinerant shot and killed by a guard. It had apparently scared Sager,
who probably suspected the Mexican might have been a Time Patrolman,
and so he had decided to increase the guard around his house. Brek was
called from his bank duties and taken up Palo Alto Mountain to the
Sager mansion. His job was to patrol the grounds.
That evening, as dusk fell, Brek strolled around the grounds, going
from one of the posted guards to another.
"Sam? It's me, Ed."
"Howdy, Ed. Seen anything?"
"Not a thing. You?"
"Nope. I think the boss is just jumpy."
Brek poured tobacco into a cigarette paper, rolled it deftly, and put
it in his mouth. "Got a light, Sam?"
"Sure."
As the guard struck the match, Brek leaned forward to light his
cigarette--and, at the same time, he put his hand on the other's
shoulder. Automatically, a little device in his palm silently and
painlessly injected hypnotene into the man's blood stream.