“And a swell chance you’ve got of collectin’ it.”
“Oh, I dunno, Tex. Anyway, I’ll be satisfied with the eight thousand. It ought to be more, but I can take the eight thousand with a clear conscience, because I’m not supposed to know where it comes from.”
“Would yuh mind repeatin’ that?” asked Tex evenly.
“No need of that, Tex. You know what I mean. There were two or three men with you last night. I realize that they have to get their share, but even at that—well, as I said before, I’ll take the eight thousand and call it square.”
Tex got to his feet and walked back to the door, where he turned and looked at Barnhardt, who had also stood up, leaning across his desk.
“I reckon you’ve gone loco, Lee,” he said softly. “I dunno what yo’re talkin’ about—and I don’t reckon you do either.”
“The ——, I don’t,” rasped the lawyer. “If you think you can cut me out of that Santa Rita pay-roll, you’re crazy. It was done on my information, and you’ll come clean with me, or you’ll find just how high a fee I can charge.”
Tex blinked at him, a puzzled expression in his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and left the office, while Barnhardt stopped at the window and watched Tex walk slowly across the street to the Oasis, where he stopped and glanced back toward the office, before going into the saloon.
Barnhardt was mad. In fact, he was almost mad enough to go to the sheriff and tell him that Tex Alden knew that the Santa Rita pay-roll was coming in on that train. But he was not quite mad enough to do that. There would be plenty of time for that, in case Tex could not be induced to make a split.
Barnhardt put on his hat, yanked it down on his head, forcing his ears to flare out, and headed for the sheriff’s office, intending to find out what the sheriff had in mind.