“You had one thousand dollars,” said Witham dryly.
Courthorne made a little gesture of resignation. “It is, however, certain that I haven’t got them now. They went as dollars usually do. The fact is, I have met one or two men recently who apparently know rather more about games of chance than I do, and I passed on the fame, which was my most valuable asset, to you.”
“You passed me on the brand of a crime I never committed,” said Witham grimly. “That, however, is not the question now. Not one dollar, except at the time agreed upon, will you get from me. Why did you come here dressed as we usually are on the prairie?”
Courthorne glanced down at the deerskin jacket and smiled as he straightened himself into a caricature of Witham’s mounted attitude. It was done cleverly.
“When I ride in this fashion we are really not very unlike, you see, and I let one or two men I met get a good look at me,” he said. “I meant it as a hint that it would be wise of you to come to terms with me.”
“I have done so already. You made the bargain.”
“Well,” said Courthorne smiling, “a contract may be modified at any time when both parties are willing.”
“One is not,” said Witham dryly. “You heard my terms, and nothing that you can urge will move me a hairsbreadth from them.”
Courthorne looked at him steadily, and some men would have found his glance disconcerting, for now and then all the wickedness that was in him showed in his half-closed eyes. Still, he saw that the farmer was unyielding.
“Then we will let it go; in the meanwhile,” he said, “take me across the bridge.”