“It would be a right smart risk,” Price went on, “for they’d maybe think to drop aroun’ that way on a lookout for you; but I reckon before you do much more, you better drop in at the Mallory place.”
Rathburn rose abruptly. “I guess that’s what I came up here to hear you say,” he said irritably. “But I don’t reckon it can be done, Joe. I haven’t any business there.”
“How do you know, boy? Maybe you ain’t bein’ right fair.”
“Seems to me it would look better for me to stay away.”
“They don’t have to see you,” urged the old man. 192 “The Mallory place is a good fifteen miles from Hope, close up against the mountains. Boy, don’t you think you better make sure?”
The wistful, yearning look was back in Rathburn’s eyes. His right hand rested upon the butt of his gun. The other held his forgotten cigarette. He turned and looked into the old man’s eyes.
“Joe, you said something about takin’ something from the desert if I left it. You’re right. But it can’t be, Joe. This thing has killed my chances!”
The gun seemed to leap from its holster into his hand at his hip of its own accord. The old miner’s brows lifted in astonishment at the draw.
“If I was you I wouldn’t be much scared who I met on the way down to the Mallory place if I didn’t meet too many of ’em at once,” he said with a smile.
“I––I couldn’t wear it––there,” Rathburn faltered.