“You must have known him,” Gard said, “if you know he witnessed that deed; for Kate Hallard never told you.”
Westcott stared out at the desert. He was playing a desperate game, and he knew it. He would have given much to understand the inscrutable man who sat opposite him. He did not feel that he did understand him, fully; nevertheless, he had his own theories of the stuff men are made of, and presently he leaned forward.
“Look here, Gard,” he said, “This is mighty poor business for a man like you to be in.”
He spoke rapidly; for Miss Anderson had just appeared at the door of the adobe kitchen, still talking to Wing Chang.
“I don’t know what you expect to make by it,” Westcott went on; “but I don’t want Kate Hallard to get into any trouble. She can’t establish that deed. It’s no more use to her than so much blank paper. But I’ve got certain things in view. I’m going into politics in this territory, and there are reasons why I don’t want a thing like this coming up. You know how things get garbled—” He hesitated, and then went on, with a glance in the direction of the girl, who was now approaching.
“Between ourselves,” he said, rapidly, “what’s the reason you and I can’t do business together?”
He regarded his companion narrowly. Helen had stopped, near the casa, and was scanning the desert from under her hand.
“What do you say?” Westcott all but whispered. Gard looked at him a full moment before he spoke:
“I guess we couldn’t do business together,” he said, slowly, “But I guess we shan’t need to, Mr. Westcott; because you’re going to fix this matter up right. You’re going to give Mrs. Hallard back the property you stole from her, or else you’re going to pay her the full value.”
“Or else?”