Slosson glanced round the room, and, discovering only Gordon, flung himself into Mallinsbee's chair and delivered himself of his orders.
"Say, you best have your darned Chinaman take my horse around back an' feed him hay. Where's Mallinsbee?"
Gordon assumed an almost deferential air, but ignored the order for the horse's care.
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Mallinsbee won't be around this afternoon. He's going up in the hills on a shoot," he lied shamelessly. "Maybe for a week or two. Maybe only days."
"What in thunder? Say, was he here this morning? I sent word I was coming along."
Slosson's black eyes had narrowed angrily, and his pasty features were shaded with the pink of rising temper.
Gordon's eyes expressed simple surprise.
"Sure, he was here. Your note got along 'bout eleven. He guessed he couldn't stop around for you. You see, a few caribou have been seen within twenty miles of the ranch. They don't wait around for business appointments."
Slosson brought one fist down on the arm of his chair, and in a burst of anger almost shouted at the deferential Gordon.
"Caribou?" he exploded. "What in thunder is he chasin' caribou for when there's things to be settled once and for all that won't keep? Caribou? The man's crazy. Does he think I'm going to wait around while he gets chasin'—caribou?"