Tex spoke in a matter-of-fact way, as though the killing of Lee Barnhardt would be merely a disagreeable task. Barnhardt smiled crookedly.
“You don’t need to threaten me, Tex,” he said.
“Oh, that’s not a threat.”
Barnhardt straightened his collar.
“You called me a crook,” he remarked. “You can’t prove anything, Tex; but you embezzled eight thousand dollars—and I can prove it.”
“How can yuh? You haven’t the bill of sale, nor a copy of it. You had nothing to do with the sale. The check was made out to me.”
“All right,” Barnhardt laughed shortly. “In two weeks the Fall round-up will be held, Tex. There’s going to be a shortage of X Bar 6 stock to account for. My report will show this, and I’ll have to explain just what happened—unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you shoot square with me, Tex.”
“In other words,” said Tex coldly, “if I’ll play a crooked game with you, you’ll protect me, eh?”