"Well, it is now," Marmot retorted; and sat down again.
On a small rack above the counter, just in a line behind Marmot's head when he was standing, was displayed the letter Slaughter had come for, and as Marmot sat down he saw it. He pushed past into the store and took it from the rack. As he turned to the door, he faced the men standing round Marmot.
"Put that back, or——" Marmot began loudly.
"Get out of my way," Slaughter shouted, as he advanced towards them with angry eyes and closed fists.
They had seen such an expression on his face once before; and as they did then, so did they now, as they fell apart and allowed him to pass out. As he reached his horse, he faced them again.
"You mind your own affairs," he said, with a snarl in his voice; and before they could find an answer for him, he mounted his horse and rode away.
"Well!" Marmot exclaimed, when at length he found words. "What game's this, I'd ask?"
Smart, from the end of the verandah where he had been watching Slaughter ride through the township, laughed as he answered—
"Old Cold-blood's waking up. As the missus says, them freezers is always the worst when they thaws."
"Seems to me," Cullen observed solemnly—"seems to me the drought ain't the only trouble in the district; and old Cold-blood, coming here listening to all we've got to say, has got in ahead of us somehow, and is playing a lone hand for all he's worth. He's bluffed Murray."