"The doings are over for this time, I fancy," he digressed evenly. "I see a row of bronchos tied down in front of Red's place."
Landor did not look around.
"Mary and Mrs. Burton will count them, never fear," he recalled in mock sarcasm. "What I want to know is your opinion."
"In my opinion there's nothing to be done," said Chantry.
Landor shifted again, and again the chair groaned in mortal agony.
"I know that. What I mean is how long is it liable to be before—" he halted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder—"before Bob and the rest will be doing that to me?"
Chantry's gaze left the window, met the shrewd grey eyes beneath the other's drooping lids.
"It may be a day and it may be ten years," he said.
Unconsciously Landor settled deeper into his seat. His jaws closed tight on the stump of the stogie. Unwaveringly he returned the other's gaze.
"You have a more definite idea than that, though," he pressed. "Tell me, and let's have it over with."