CHAPTER III
MISTRESS MARY—QUITE CONTRARY
But Stratton’s mind was too full of the amazing information he had gleaned from the old storekeeper to leave much room for minor reflections. He had been stunned at first—so completely floored that anyone save the garrulous old man intent on making the most of his shop-worn story could not have helped seeing that something was seriously wrong. Then anger came—a hot, raging fury against the authors of this barefaced, impudent attempt at swindle. From motives of policy he had done his best to conceal that, too, from Pop Daggett; but now that he was alone it surged up again within him, dyeing his face a deep crimson and etching hard lines on his forehead and about his straight-lipped mouth.
“Thought they’d put it over easy,” he growled behind set teeth, one clenched, gloved hand thumping the saddle-horn. “Saw the notice in the papers, of course, and decided it would be a cinch to rob a dead man. Well, there’s a surprise coming to somebody that’ll make mine look like thirty cents.”
His lips relaxed in a grim smile, which presently 25 merged into an expression of puzzled wonder. Thorne, of all people, to try and put across a crooked deal like this! Stratton had never known the man really intimately, but during the several years of their business relationship the Chicago lawyer struck him as being scrupulously honest and upright. Indeed, when Buck came to enlist, it seemed a perfectly safe and natural thing to leave his deeds and other important papers in Andrew Thorne’s keeping.
“Shows how you can be fooled in a man,” murmured Stratton, as he followed the trail down into a shallow draw. “I sure played into his hands nice. He had the deeds and everything, and it would be simple enough to fake a transfer when he thought I was dead and knew I hadn’t any kin to make trouble. I wonder what the daughter’s like. A holy terror, I’ll bet, and tarred with the same brush. Well, she’ll get hers in about two hours’ time, and get it good.”
The grim smile flickered again on his lips for a moment, to vanish as he saw the head and shoulders of a horseman appear over the further edge of the draw. An instant later the bulk of a big sorrel flashed into view and thudded toward him.
On the open range men usually stop for a word or two when they meet, but this one did not. As he approached Stratton at a rapid speed there was a brief, involuntary movement as if he meant to pull up and then changed his mind. The next moment he had 26 whirled past with a careless, negligent gesture of one hand and a keen, penetrating, questioning stare from a pair of hard black eyes.
Buck glanced over one shoulder at the flying dust-cloud and pursed his lips.
“Wonder if that’s the mysterious Tex?” he pondered, urging his horse forward. “Black eyes and red cheeks, all right. He’s a good looking scoundrel—too darn good looking for a man. All the same, I can’t say it was a case of love at first sight.”