“That such ill feeling as is shown by yonder sign may be wiped away. You will be taken care of. Moreover, I shall myself make a plea to the governor of the State for an absolute pardon for your son. I wish to prove to you that Luther Fox is not the scoundrel you would have men think him to be.”
His bony thumbs hooked in the armholes of his grease-spotted waistcoat, he attempted a yellow-fanged smile.
“A buzzard chatterin’ like a magpie,” was Ma Basset’s audible comment to her husband.
Fox’s yellow cheeks took on a pinkish hue. His eyes glittered venomously.
“We ain’t askin’ no compromise, Fox,” said Hank. “The deal goes as she lays.”
“So be it.”
Fox bit off his words sharply. Pulling forth a huge watch, he held it in the palm of his hand.
“You have exactly twenty-eight minutes to produce those cattle, Basset.”
“And that’s a plenty, Luther Fox! Look yonder!” cried Ma Basset.
Out of a long draw came a moving mass of stock. The faint sound of bawling cattle came to them. The brownish spot widened quickly, taking form as the herd spread out across the prairie.