“Yes, Buck Tom,” answered the landlord, in his grave off-hand manner; “They have sent it, and authorised me to pay you the balance.”
He turned over some papers for a few minutes, during which Buck Tom did not condescend to glance to one side or the other, but kept his eye fixed sternly on the landlord.
At that moment the Englishman re-entered, went to his corner, spread his blanket on the floor, lay down, put his wide-awake over his eyes, and resigned himself to repose, apparently unaware that anything special was going on, and obtusely blind to the quiet but eager signals wherewith the cow-boy was seeking to direct his attention to Buck Tom.
In a few minutes the landlord found the paper he wanted, and began to look over it.
“The company owes you,” he said, “three hundred dollars ten cents for the work done,” said the landlord slowly.
Buck nodded his head as if satisfied with this.
“Your account has run on a long while,” continued the landlord, “and they bid me explain that there is a debit of two hundred and ninety-nine dollars against you. Balance in your favour one dollar ten cents.”
A dark frown settled on Buck Tom’s countenance, as the landlord laid the balance due on the counter, and for a few moments he seemed in uncertainty as to what he should do, while the landlord stood conveniently near to a spot where one of his revolvers lay. Then Buck turned on his heel, and was striding towards the door, when the landlord called him back.
“Excuse my stopping you, Buck Tom,” he said, “but there’s a gentleman here who wants a guide to Traitor’s Trap. Mayhap you wouldn’t object to—”
“Where is he?” demanded Buck, wheeling round, with a look of slight surprise.