"Good Lord!" said Seaforth, who understood him, huskily.
"Well," said Alton, "I think the thing's quite plain. If we could get down to the poor beast I figure we'd find something that had no business there under the girth or saddle. The rest is simpler—a little coal oil or giant powder, and—just at the turning yonder—a lariat across the trail. That man knows his business, Charley."
"Good Lord!" said Seaforth once more. "It's devilish, Harry. You're not going to tell anybody, and repeat the mistake you made?"
"Yes," said Alton grimly. "That's just what I figure on doing."
"But," and Seaforth's horror was evident, "he may try again. There are more than the Somasco ranchers who would be sorry if—he was successful—Harry."
Alton laughed, but the grating cachination sent a shiver through his companion. "Yes," he said, "I think he will, and that's why I'm waiting. He may give himself away the third time, and then it will be either him or me."
Seaforth stood silent for almost a minute. "If you would only listen to me—but of course you will not. Can't you see that you are in the way of somebody who stands behind that man?"
"Yes," and Alton's smile was now quietly grim. "It don't take much genius to figure out that. Before I'm through I'll know just who he is, and all about him."
Once more Seaforth was silent a space. Then he spoke very slowly.
"Are you sure you're wise?"
Alton gripped his comrade's arm so that he winced with pain. "It's the second time you've asked me that," he said. "There will not be room for you and me in this province if you ask it me again."