“The Major Domo,” replied Carson, looking somewhat abashed.
“Name it the Aberdeen,” said Buchan. “I like to hear that name spoken, it was my old home in Scotland.”
XXIII.
THE TWO OLD BLACK CROWS.
Amos sat in the little back room of Rayder’s office in Denver. His beady black eyes glistened beneath his beetle brows. A pleased expression shone on his thin face, drawn in wrinkles like stained parchment. Rayder was out, but had left instructions for him to wait. As he sat there his eye caught sight of something interesting on Rayder’s desk. The door was closed and he was alone. He leaned forward and took up some slips of paper for closer inspection. They were certificates of assay from Pendleton. The pleased look vanished as he noted Amos No. 1, Amos No. 2, Amos No. 3, and so on for a dozen or more slips. Rayder did not trust him, and had had the sample of ore assayed by Pendleton for corroboration.
“He does not even believe in honesty 205 among thieves,” he mused, as he carefully replaced the papers. Then the pleased look came back to his face.
“All the better,” he thought. “He will deal now and it is my time to strike before the iron cools.”
He drew his chair further back from the desk, and pretended to be reading a newspaper when he heard Rayder coming.