“Look,” Stack offered. “I ain’t hankerin’ to take a chance with Buck. I don’t see nothin’ in this country for me no more, nohow. Can’t you stake me to an extra horse, a bed, an’ some grub? Then I can light right out.”
“You’ve sure got gall,” Rock said coldly. “To ask me to stake you to anything after trying to kill me.”
“Well, long as I’m alive I got to eat,” the man retorted. “I got some money on me, but it might be quite a ways to another job.”
Rock regarded the man for a moment. He was not moved by any feeling of kindness. Stack was a gunman whose services were for sale to the highest bidder. He would kill for money, and he would kill for lack of it. There was nothing of loyalty in his make-up. He would embark on desperate undertakings without any personal rancor toward his victims. And he would desert with as little compunction if the game didn’t seem worth the candle.
Stack had had enough of Rock Holloway. To save his feet from being toasted, he had divulged information which made northern Montana no place for him. He had blood money in his pocket. With a horse under him, a dead running mate behind him, he would leave for new fields, where his peculiar talents might find suitable employment. Buck Walters would be a long time finding out what had become of his two thugs, if this one had a horse, a blanket, and a little food to start him on his journey.
“You don’t get no extra horse,” said Rock. “I’ll bring you back this one. A Maltese Cross horse is as good for you to ride out of the country as any. I’ll stake you to a blanket and a little grub. You can take it or leave it.”
“You’re the doctor,” Stack agreed indifferently. “I’d like another cayuse, but if you ain’t got one to spare——” He shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of those terms.
Rock swung into the saddle and left him. He had all the guns. He galloped down the ravine after Nona Parke’s work stock, picking them up where they had stopped to graze, half a mile below. He had to haze them into the ranch, catch a fresh mount, secure the things he had promised Stack, and return here.
After that—well, riding fast toward the Marias, with an ache beginning to make his temples throb, Rock could still smile with anticipation. It was worth a sore head. He would very soon have a weird tale to relay to Uncle Bill Sayre in Fort Worth. He would surprise that estimable banker. And it was not impossible that he might surprise Buck Walters even more in the immediate future.