The Wolf cursed under his breath. “You came here at your own risk, then?”
“Well, I did and I didn’t,” corrected the sheriff easily. “I’ve got a five-thousand policy in the Southeastern Life Insurance Company, so I reckon it’s some risk to them. And, by the way, it’s a company I can recommend.”
“Does it insure against suicide?” asked Leroy, his masked, smiling face veiling thinly a ruthless purpose.
“And against hanging. Let me strongly urge you to take out a policy at once,” came the prompt retort.
“You think it necessary?”
“Quite. When you and York Neil and Hardman made an end of Scotty you threw ropes round your own necks. Any locoed tenderfoot would know that.”
The sheriff’s unflinching look met the outlaw’s black frown serene and clear-eyed.
“And would he know that you had committed suicide when you ran this place down and came here?” asked Leroy, with silken cruelty.
“Well, he ought to know it. The fact is, Mr. Leroy, that it hadn’t penetrated my think-tank that this was your hacienda when I came mavericking in.”
“Just out riding for your health?”