“I know you’re lightning on the draw, Harlan,” he said, his faint smile fading a trifle. “I wouldn’t have a chance with you; I’m not a gun-fighter. For that reason I don’t want any disagreement with you. And I’ve heard enough about you to know that you don’t shoot unless the other fellow is out to ‘get’ you.
“We won’t have any trouble. Be fair. As the man who will ultimately take charge of the Rancho Seco—since Miss Barbara has been good enough to encourage me—I would like to know some things. I’ve heard that Lane Morgan was killed at Sentinel Rock, and that you were with him when he died—and just before. Did he give you authority to take charge of the Rancho Seco?”
“He told me to take hold.”
“A written order?”
“He said nothing else; there were no papers on him—nothing of value?”
Neither man had permitted his eyes to waver from the other’s since Harlan had advanced; and they now stood, with only the few feet of space between them, looking steadily at each other.
Harlan saw in Haydon’s eyes a furtive, stealthy gleam as of cupidity glossed over with a pretense of frank curiosity. He sensed greed in Haydon’s gaze, and knowledge of a mysterious quality.
Haydon knew something about Lane Morgan’s errand to Pardo; he knew why the man had started for Pardo, and what had been on his person at the time of his death.
Harlan was convinced of that; and the light in his eyes as he looked into Haydon’s reflected the distrust and the contempt he had for the man.