Uncouth bear that he was, Mackintavers could be swayed by this more polished tongue; he knew this tongue was devoted absolutely to his own interests, and he forced himself to accept the dictum of Dorales at the moment.
“Well?” he growled. “Ye don’t mean to say she’s down at Zacaton?”
“The wire was from your store manager there, Aimes. He said merely that he had smashed the Crump outfit flat, and that I had better get there in a hurry to take charge of things.”
“Aiblins, yes!” The thin lips of Sandy curled back. “We hadn’t looked for such quick action, Abel. That Aimes is a good man! I s’pose this news don’t grieve ye none, after what the lady done to you. How’s your head?”
A fleeting contraction passed across the face of Dorales. His eyes narrowed to thin slits. His nose quivered like the nose of a dog sniffing game.
“Thank you, it’s quite well,” his voice was low and cruel. “If you think best, I shall go down there immediately.”
Mackintavers crammed a cigar between his teeth and chewed at it for a moment.
“Aiblins, yes,” he mused aloud. “Somebody has blocked us on this moving-the-capital bill. I won’t get hold of the skunk right away, neither; we might’s well call it off until the next session.
“Tell ye what, Abel! I’m fixing to spend a while at my ranch, so I’ll go south with ye. I’ll need ye mighty bad to get that business of the Injun gods moving along, because I got my heart set on doin’ that up brown. But as ye say, this mine means millions—the biggest strike in the state in a long time. The assayer was positive it was strontianite and not merely barytes?”
“Dead certain,” assented Dorales.