“I’m not sole heir to any millionaire,” Mackenzie reminded him, taking the proposal in the jesting spirit that he supposed it was given.
“On the dead, Mackenzie––I mean it. Will you give me a thousand dollars for my place in the sheep game, girl and all? If you will, I’ll hit the breeze tonight for Mexico and kick it all over to you, win or lose.”
“If I could buy you out for a dime we couldn’t trade,” Mackenzie told him, a coldness in tone and manner that was more than a reproof.
“Joan ought to be worth that much to you!” Reid sneered.
Mackenzie got up, walked a few steps away, turned back presently, his temper in hand.
“It’s not a question open to discussion between gentlemen,” he said.
Reid blinked up at him, an odd leer on his sophisticated face, saying no more. He made a pack on his saddle of the camp outfit, and started off along the ridge, leaving Mackenzie to follow as he pleased. A mile or more along Reid pitched upon a suitable camping place. He had himself established long before Mackenzie came to where he sat smoking amid his gloomy, impatient thoughts.
“I’m not going over to relieve that old skunk,” Reid announced, “not without orders from Sullivan. If he gets off you’ll have to relieve him yourself. I don’t want that Hall guy to get it into his nut that I’m runnin’ away from him.”
“All right, Earl,” said Mackenzie, good-naturedly, “I’ll go.”