"Wonder how Uncle Jack managed to hang on in such a lawless country as this," said Ferral.
"No one ever bothered him. He was pretty well liked by the scattered settlers."
"Everybody liked the old chap! I thought no end of him myself."
"Too bad you didn't show it, Dick, while he was alive," said Sercomb.
There wasn't any sarcasm in his voice—only a dry, expressionless statement of what Ferral knew were the cold facts. Nevertheless, there was a gratuitous slur in the words. Ferral bristled at once, but a look from Matt caused him to curb his temper.
"Belay a bit on that, Ralph," said Ferral mildly. "I know it well without your say-so to round it off. From now on, though, I'll do my best to show Uncle Jack what I think of him."
Sercomb looked a little puzzled.
"His will shows everybody what he thought of you—at the last," said he.
It looked as though Sercomb was deliberately trying to force a quarrel, but Ferral, still with Matt's glances to admonish him, did not fall into the trap.
"I'll go down and get breakfast," observed Sercomb, after waiting in vain for a response from Ferral. "Some Denver friends are coming up from Lamy to make me a little visit, and we may be a bit crowded here. There are three of them."