"Mostly bad luck, Hepburn?" Tom taunted and the flush that whipped into the face of the older man was not that of humiliation.
He reined his horse away with a growl and did not look back.
If the little gold locket which Tom wore about his neck brought luck, it supplied a dire need. He had two determined personal enemies in the country, Webb and Hepburn, and as foreman of the HC he had many others, identities not fully established.
There was Cole and the Mexicans he had hired to build the fence and clear his land. There was the usual gathering of riff-raff at Webb's. And there was Sam McKee, the coward, who was not reckoned as a menace by Beck and who, in later days, was to figure so largely!
Another piece of news the Reverend brought:
"They're talkin' about you in town, brother. They're saying that now some of this thieving will stop. They're looking to you to clean up the country."
"Ain't that a lot of responsibility to put on one peaceful citizen?" Beck asked, but though he jested over the fact he did not fail to appreciate its significance.
"Be cautious. These men are without scruple, brother."
"And so am I ... but I got lots of luck, Reverend!" was his parting.
He needed his luck.