“Are you puttin’ it flat to me, then, that you git my girl, or else you foreclose on my paper?”
“You understand me perfectly, Jackson.”
“Well, then, foreclose, and to hell with you!” Kent roared, supreme for the moment.
Gallup did not move, neither did his eyes leave Jackson’s face. A minute passed before he spoke.
“Yes? You’re goin’ to make a pauper out of her, eh, so Dice can put himself in her class and run off with her? You’d better reconsider. Toby and me’ll go outside and look around the place while you do.”
CHAPTER XVII
GALLUP’S PRICE
Kent slunk into his chair as they left him. He had foreseen this day, but events had so happened since the steer-shipping as to leave his mind no time to worry about it. But now, by comparison, Johnny Dice and his evil genius seemed of minor importance. Not for a second did Kent think of begging off. He knew Gallup too well.
Yes, and Gallup knew Jackson Kent. Five years before this he would not have dared to beard him as he had done this day. But Kent was no longer the man of old. The last two years had been too much for the cattleman. Every ounce of his energy had gone into fighting the perverse fate which lately seemed to pursue all cattlemen.
So, while Kent drank the dregs of despair, Aaron and Tobias wandered about, confident that old Jackson would back down. What was left of the man’s fighting spirit might disintegrate slowly, but time would accomplish it.
Half an hour sufficed—thirty minutes of life which Jackson Kent would never forget. Slow of step and heavy of heart he made his way to Molly’s room.