“I’m only entitled to handle Wyllard’s money on his account,” he objected.
Edmonds appeared to reflect. “So far as I can remember there was nothing of that kind stated in the draft of the arrangement. It empowered you to do anything you thought fit with the money, but it’s altogether your own affair. I can, of course, get my money back by selling your homestead, and I must decide if that must be done or not before I leave.”
Edmonds had very little doubt as to what the decision would be. Hawtrey would yield, and afterwards it would not be difficult to draw him into some unwise speculation with the object of getting the money back, which he imagined that Hawtrey would be desperately anxious to do. As the result of this, he expected to get such a hold upon the Range that he would be master of the situation when the property fell into the hands of Wyllard’s trustees. That Hawtrey would be disgraced as well as ruined naturally did not count with him.
Gregory took up one of the papers, and read it through. Then he rose, and stood leaning on the table while he gazed at the teams toiling amid the grain. There was wealth enough yonder to release him from his torturing anxieties, and after all, he felt, something must turn up before the reckoning was due. It was not in his nature to face a crisis, and with him a trouble seemed less formidable if it could only be put off a little. Edmonds, who knew with what kind of man he had to deal, said nothing further, and quietly reached out for another cigar. He saw vacillation in his victim’s manner.
Meantime, though neither of the men were aware of it, Sally had alighted from her wagon on the other side of the house, and two other vehicles were growing larger upon the sweep of whitened prairie. As she entered the homestead the girl met Mrs. Nansen, who informed her that Hawtrey was busy with Edmonds in Wyllard’s room. Sally’s eyes sparkled when she heard it, and her face grew hard.
“That man!” she exclaimed. “Well, I guess I’ll go right in to them.”
In another minute she opened the door, and answered the mortgage-jobber’s embarrassed greeting with a frigid stare. Having had some experience with Sally’s uncompromising directness, he was inclined to fancy that the game was up, but he waited calmly.
“What’s this man doing here again?” Sally asked, fixing her eyes on Hawtrey. “You promised me you would never make another deal with him.”
Gregory flushed. Had he thought it would be the least use he would have made some attempt to get Sally out of the room, but he was unpleasantly sure that unless she was fully satisfied first it would only result in failure. Driven to desperation, as he was, he had a half-conscious feeling that she might provide him with some means of escape. Sally had certainly saved him once, and, humiliating as the thought was, he had an idea that she did not expect too much from him. She might be very angry, but Sally’s anger was, after all, less difficult to face than Agatha’s quiet scorn.
“I haven’t made another deal. It’s—a previous one,” Gregory explained lamely.