“So—you want D’Arcy?” quavered Lonagon.
“I said so.”
“Wal, you’re only jest in time. Come right in and see for yourself.”
Jim reeled across to the cabin and hesitated on the threshold.
“It’s kinder private,” he growled.
“Oh, like that, is it?”
Lonagon began to smell a rat. He pursed his 222 lips and met Jim’s flaming eyes. Undaunted, he placed his back to the door.
“See here, we’re mighty obliged to you for plugging them Injuns, but you ain’t going in there till we know what your game is. You ain’t safe—there’s a skeery look in your eyes and—” he lowered his voice—“D’Arcy is hitting the long trail.”
Jim started back in amazement. The news brought him the bitterest disappointment he had yet suffered. After all this terrible time on the trail fate was to rob him of his reward! For a moment he became suspicious.
“So he put you up to that, eh? Better stand away. I ain’t in a humor for hossplay. We got a score to settle.”