"Then I'd better go," Slade said. "I don't like Morrow's ways."
The thud of horse's hoofs sounded from close at hand. The two men outside lay flat in the shadow of the house. A shrill whistle, twice repeated, called Carp to his feet and he crossed to the door to answer it. Morrow dismounted and came to the door. He nodded briefly to Slade, hesitating on the sill as if surprised to find him there. Carp lost no time in stating his proposition. He spoke jerkily.
"I want to get out," he said. "I'll sell for five dollars a head."
Morrow held up a hand to silence him.
"I'll likely buy—but I never talk business in a crowd." He crossed the room and sat with his back to the window. "There's plenty of time."
"I take it I'm the crowd," Slade remarked. "So I'll step out."
Morrow stiffened suddenly in his chair as a cold ring was pressed against the back of his neck through the crack of the window. At the same instant Carp had tilted back and raised one knee. The gun that rested on his leg was peeping over the table at Slade.
"Steady!" he ordered. "Sit tight!"
The window was thrown up to its full height by Waddles and the curtain snatched away from the gun which Harris held against Morrow's neck. Carp's apparent nervousness had vanished. He flipped back his vest and revealed a marshal's badge.
"I'd as soon take you along feet first as any way," he said. "So if you feel like acting up you can start any time now."