Hashknife dropped the subject, as far as the conversation was concerned, but did not dismiss it from his mind. It might be the natural thing for Pollock to visit the place where he had formerly lived and worked, but Hashknife did not figure that a man of Pollock’s reputation would do the natural thing. He took it for granted that Pollock was there for some other reason than a visit.
Hashknife drifted back to the Oasis a little later, giving Pollock plenty of chances to recognise him, but the gambler merely glanced at him and went on talking with Cole. Hashknife noticed that his left hand was bandaged to the knuckles, precluding any chance of an identifying glimpse of any scar on the back of that hand.
Pollock did not take a room at the hotel, but occupied one of Cole’s rooms over the saloon, where Cole’s other two dealers slept. Cole’s own bed was in his private office.
That evening about eight o’clock Amos Baggs came in to the sheriff’s office, where Ben Dillon was seated at his desk, writing a letter.
Baggs did not sit down, but stood beside the desk and came to the point immediately.
“I want to talk with you about Len Ayres, Dillon,” he said.
“What’s he done now, Baggs?”
“This has nothing to do with what he has already done; it’s what he might do. You probably know that he hates me for what happened during his trial five years ago. Well,” Amos sighed deeply, “he came to me with all kinds of threats. I tried to smooth things over, but it was no use. You wonder how he got the job of foreman on the Box S? I’ll tell you why he got it, Dillon; it was because he said he’d cut off my ears if I didn’t give it to him.”
“Bein’ your ears,” said the sheriff thoughtfully, “you wanted to save ’em.”
“Naturally. I asked Miss Singer to give him the job. I was retained by Harmony Singer during the last few months of his life, and as I drew his will and located the heir, it would naturally follow that I have charge of the business, at least until after the will is probated and the owner established.”