COUNTERPLOT
“The low-down, ornery liar!” sputtered Bud Jessup, face flushed and eyes snapping. “He told me to wait for them bolts if I had to stay here all day. I thought it was kinda funny he’d let me waste all this time, but I didn’t have no idea at all he’d got me out of the way a-purpose to put across that dirty deal. Why, the rotten son-of-a—”
“Easy, kid,” cautioned Buck, glancing at the open door of the store. “You’ll have Pop comin’ out to see what all the excitement’s about, and that isn’t our game—yet.”
He had found Bud alone on the rickety porch, kicking his heels against the railing and fretting at his enforced idleness; and having hitched his horse, he lost no time in giving the youngster a brief account of the happenings of the night before.
“Not him,” shrugged Jessup, though he did lower his voice a trifle. “The up train’s due in less than half an hour, an’ Pop’s gettin’ the mail-bag ready. That means readin’ all the post-cards twice at least, an’ makin’ out all he can through the envelopes, if the 128 paper’s thin enough. I often wondered why he didn’t go the whole hog an’ have a kettle ready to steam the flaps open, he seems to get so much pleasure out of other people’s business.”
Stratton chuckled. This suited him perfectly up to a certain point. He pulled the letter out of his shirt and was pleased to see that none of the writing was visible. Then he displayed the face of the envelope to his companion.
Bud’s eyes widened. “Whew!” he whistled. “That sure looks like business. What’s up, Buck? Can’t yuh tell a man?”
“I will on the way back; no time just now. Let’s go in.”
He led the way into the store and walked down to where Daggett was slowly sorting a small pile of letters and post-cards.
“Hello, Pop!” he greeted. “Looks like I was just in time.”