The saloon-keeper took the money promptly. But for once his astonishment held him silent. Mercy Lascelles had reached the door to go. Then she seemed to change her mind. She paused.
“There’s fifty dollars more when I get back—if you keep your tongue quiet,” she said warningly. “I don’t want my business to get around. I should say gossip travels fast amongst the hills. That’s what I don’t want.”
“I see.”
It was all the astonished man could think of to say at the moment. But he managed an abundant wink in a markedly friendly way.
His wink missed fire, however, for the woman had departed; and by the time he reached the door to look after her he saw her mounting the wagon, which was drawn by the heavy team from Joan’s farm, and driven by her hired man.
As the stranger drove off he leant against the doorway and emitted a low whistle. In his own phraseology he was “beat,” completely and utterly “beat.”
But this state of things could not last long. His fertile brain could not long remain under such a cloud of astonished confusion. He must sort out the facts and piece them together. This he set to work on at once.
Abandoning his work in the storeroom he went at once to the barn, and gave orders for the dispatch of the team. And herein, for once, he traded honestly with his visitor. He ordered his very best team to be sent. Perhaps it was in acknowledgment of the problem she had offered him.
Then he questioned his helpers. Here he was absolutely despotic. And in less than half an hour he had ascertained several important facts. He learned that a team had come in from Crowsfoot the previous afternoon, bringing a passenger for the farm. The team had remained at the farm, likewise the teamster. Only the fact that daylight that morning had brought the man into camp for a supply of fodder and provisions had supplied them with the news of his presence in the district. This had happened before Beasley was up.