Sawyer went out. The clock struck and McElwin glanced up at it. Then he settled down into a deep muse. Sawyer's plan was desperate—it was outlawry. It ought not to be carried out, and yet the provocation was great. But supposing it should be known that he had given countenance to the undertaking. Suppose the newspapers should print his name in connection with it; the public, to say nothing of the law, would frown upon him. It must not be done. He snatched a piece of paper, and writing upon it the words: "Give up that scheme at once," sealed it up and gave it to a negro, with instructions to find Mr. Sawyer and hand it to him at once. About half an hour later the negro returned with a note written on a piece of paper bag, and unsealed. The note ran: "Don't you worry, but it shall be done tonight. Don't try to find me. I have been fooling long enough, and now I am getting down to business." He tore the paper into bits, and then strode slowly up and down the room. Presently he took down his hat, rubbed it abstractedly with the sleeve of his coat, and went out, remarking that he might not be back that day. He felt like a criminal as he stepped upon the sidewalk. But he was stiff, and merely nodded to the tradesmen who bowed to him cringingly. He was looking for Sawyer, but was afraid to inquire after him. He went to the wagon yard where Sawyer stabled his mules, and looked about, but did not find him. The owner of the place, hard in the presence of the farmers, but obsequiously soft under the banker's eye, invited him into the office, a dismal place, the walls hung with halters, bridles, chains and twisting sticks, used to grip the jaw of a refractory horse and wrench rebellion out of him. The rough appearance of the stable men within and the pungent smell of the place, turned McElwin at the threshold.
"No, I don't think I have time," he said.
"Is there anything I can do for you? If there is, name it, and I will stir up this place from top to bottom."
McElwin thought that it was stirred up quite enough, with its rough men, its mangy dogs and rat-like smell. "Nothing at all," he answered. "I am looking for a farmer, a man named Brown."
"Old Jack? He's around here somewhere. It will tickle him pretty nigh to death to know you'd look for him. I'll tell him when he comes in."
"Oh, no. He's not the man. This man's quite young, and his name is Lucian Brown, I think."
"Then I don't know anything about him, I'm sorry to say."
"Are you feeding many mules at present?"
"Well, not many at present, but I expect to have more in a day or two. Mr. Sawyer has gone down in the country to gather up a lot. He drove out just a few moments ago. I tell you, there's a hustler, Mr. McElwin. He don't wait, he makes things happen."