"See here, Mister," he said slowly. "Mrs. Belswin's been round at my hotel tryin' to get dollars. I gave her five hundred, and now this bank's shut. She gets no more, I guess, this fall, because you'll tell her she's not to come gavortin' round my claim no more."
"But I can't stop her."
"No?" said Silas, interrogatively, "I guess you can. See here, Mr. Damberton, I know what you are--none better, and that's straight. You know what Mrs. Belswin is, and if she plays low on you, sir, just ask her where she got the little gun to fix up things with her husband."
"But she didn't kill him."
Silas laughed disbelievingly.
"I don't know nothin' of that game, sir. It's a cut beyond me, and that's a fact. All I say is, that if Mrs. Belswin comes on the war-path to my ranch, I'll tell some things about Mr. Damberton that Mr. Dombrain won't smile at. You take me, sir, I fancy."
"Yes!" said Dombrain, slowly, while the great drops of sweat gathered on his forehead, "I understand."
"Bully for you," replied Mr. Oates, in a friendly tone, going to the door. "Good-mornin', sir. I'm pleased to see you again. It's like the old days, and that's a fact."
Mr. Oates sauntered out with his hands in his pockets and Dombrain flung himself in his chair, and, burying his face in his hands, sobbed like a child.
"My God," he sobbed passionately, "am I to lose all after these years?"