W. A. Raine, the representative of the bank, had arrived at the Double R the day before and, accompanied by Spur Treadwell, Bill McAllister, and a dozen cowboys, had started to check the number of Double R cows.
As the day’s work progressed, Raine’s face grew grave, and Bill McAllister cursed. Where there had been once a thousand cows, there were now a hundred. Late that evening, when they returned to the ranch, the punchers were already gossiping about the fact that the bank intended to foreclose its mortgage at once.
“Dot, things look mighty bad, but I ain’t given up hope yet,” Spur told Dot Reed that night.
Her face paled. With an effort she regained her composure. “It’s not the money—but dad loved this place, an’ I hate to see it pass into the hands of a stranger.”
“Listen, Dot, yuh know I’ve always loved yuh, an’ if yuh’ll marry me, some day we’ll buy the ranch back again—for I’ll work an’——” A shake of her head stopped him. She looked up at him and asked herself why she could not care for him—he was kind, handsome, a real man. Yet deep down in her soul there was something that warned her against him.
“Yuh’re still dreamin’ of Slivers,” he cried harshly. With an effort, he recovered himself. “I’m sorry. Do yuh—do yuh ever hear from him?”
“Yeh, I got a letter from him just the other day. He is goin’ to prove he had nothin’ to do with the murder of Iky Small an’ that he wasn’t near here when dad—— He has a friend who brought—I mean is helpin’——” She came to a stumbling halt.
“Yuh mean he has a friend who is helpin’ him look up proof. If he brought yuh the letter, he must be now workin’ on the ranch,” he said quickly.
She shook her head in denial, but the fear that had leaped to her eyes told him the truth.
“All right, Dot—I hope—an’ yuh know I mean it—that this friend is successful,” he said calmly, but it was only with a great effort that he was able to keep his voice steady and not betray the seething hate that was biting at his vitals.