"That's what I say. And I'll say more. Of course, we was to go pardners on this thing. So far, so good. But here you ain't did your half. And you can't kick if I deal from now on with old man Lancaster."
Matthews understood. "By——, I done my best," he cried. "Y' can't come any of that on me, Braden."
"Keep on your shirt, Nick, keep on your shirt. I looked into this thing at Bismarck, and, under the law, you ain't got one right. Lancaster owns that Bend. And if I pay him out of my own money, why ain't it square?"
The interpreter hung his head.
"Of course," Braden went on, "I'd rather divvy. I can see he's one of them greedy old ducks that's hard to talk money with. Maybe you can think up how to get the land back."
Matthews leaned close. "I had a scheme,"—he nodded south in the direction of Medicine Mountain—"but the reds can't come. I had t' go slow. There's women in th' fambly. Nat'lly, all the men up and down the Muddy want t' see Lancaster stay. There's been a dude fr'm Bismarck here, off and on—tony cuss, sleeps between sheets, nice about his paws as a cat. He's been ready t' tattle or roll a gun."
Braden sniffed. "What trick's he played?"
Matthews evaded the question. "I seen one of the Clark outfit," he continued, "and tried t' git him t' bother old limpy. Says I, 'They's stealin' your slow-elk down there.' Wasn't any use. 'Thunderation!' says the cow-punch. 'You mean that bull? He was a yearlin' when he come to 'em. That's maverick age.'"
Braden sneered. "Such a kid!" he murmured. "Why didn't you lay low, and not go butting down their door? Why didn't you lose the old man and snub up one of the girls—marry her? Big one's a rip-snortin' beauty; pert, by jingo! as a prairie-dog."
"She'd send me a-flyin'," urged Matthews. "But th' little one——"