Leach scowled slightly. He had crossed verbal swords with Brick before, and he knew that the red-headed sheriff carried a sharp weapon in range-repartee. Brick looked up quickly.
“Seems to me that yo’re takin’ a of a lot of interest in my office, Leach.”
“Not in your office—in the good of the county, Davidson.”
“Yeah? She was a pretty good county before you came here, Leach. Mebbe she’ll be a good county after yo’re gone.”
“I don’t think I understand you, Davidson.”
“Don’tcha? Well, that’s all right then. What yuh don’t understand won’t worry yuh none.”
Brick turned and crossed the street to a hitch-rack, where he mounted his horse and rode back toward Marlin City. Leach watched him ride away, shrugged his shoulders indifferently and walked down the street toward McGill’s saloon.
Sam Leach had lived in Sun Dog County about four years and had prospered in his cattle buying. For nearly two years he had held office as a commissioner and had proved himself a capable man, although his disposition had gained him few friends.
He knew the cattle business well, having been a cowboy, cattle-raiser, and previous to his coming to Sun Dog he had been a range detective. He lived alone in a little house on the outskirts of Silverton, but spent a great part of his time in riding over the range, looking at the stock.
As Leach went down the street, Bill Grant came out of the livery-stable, where he had just left his horse, and crossed over to Leach. Jimmy McKeever, the stableman, had told Grant of how Brick had saved Baldy Malloy’s youngster.