“Here’s your time up to to-night,” he said curtly, holding out a handful of crumpled bills and silver. “Miss Thorne’s decided she don’t want yuh on the outfit any longer.”
For a moment Stratton regarded the foreman in silence, observing the glint of veiled triumph in his eyes and the malicious curve of the full red lips. The thought flashed through his mind that Lynch would hardly be quite so pleased if he knew how much time Buck himself had given lately to thinking up some scheme of plausibly bringing about this very situation.
“Is that so?” he drawled presently. “How did you work it?” he added, in the casual tone of one seeking to gratify a trifling curiosity.
Lynch scowled. “Work it?” he snapped. “I didn’t have to work it. Yuh know damn well why you’re sacked. Why should I waste time tellin’ yuh?”
Stratton smiled blandly. “In that case I reckon I’ll have to ask Miss Thorne,” he remarked, standing with legs slightly apart and thumbs hooked loosely in his chap-belt. “I’m rather curious, you know.” 164
“Like hell yuh will!” rasped Lynch, as Buck took a step or two toward the house.
Impulsively Lynch’s right hand dropped to his gun but as his fingers touched the stock he found himself staring at the uptilted end of Stratton’s holster frayed a little at the end so that the glint of a blued steel barrel showed through the leather.
“Just move your hand a mite,” Buck suggested in a quiet, level tone, which was nevertheless obeyed promptly. “Now, listen here. I want you to get this. I ain’t longing to stick around any outfit when the boss don’t want me. If the lady says I’m to go, I’ll get out pronto; but I don’t trust you, and she’s got to tell me that face to face before I move a step. Sabe?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and Lynch, crumpling the unheeded money in his hand, stepped aside with an expression of baffled fury and watched him stride along the side of the house and disappear around the corner.
He was far from lacking nerve, but he had suddenly remembered that letter to Sheriff Hardenberg, regarding which he had long ago obtained confirmation from Pop Daggett. If he could rely on the meaning of Stratton’s little anecdote—and he had an uncomfortable conviction that he could—the letter would be opened in case Buck met his death by violence. And once it was opened by the sheriff, only Tex Lynch 165 how very much the fat would be in the fire.