Flandrau told his story, or all of it that would bear telling before a girl. He glossed over his account of the dissipation at the horse ranch, but he told all he knew of Laura London and her interest in Sam. But it was when he related what he had heard at Chalkeye’s place that the interest grew most tense. While he was going over the plot to destroy young Cullison there was no sound in the room but his voice. Luck’s eyes burned like live coals. The color faded from the face of his daughter so that her lips were gray as cigar ash. Yet she sat up straight and did not flinch.
When he had finished the owner of the Circle C caught his hand. “You’ve done fine, boy. Not a man in Arizona could have done it better.”
Kate said nothing in words but her dark longlashed eyes rained thanks upon him.
They talked the situation over from all angles. Always it simmered down to one result. It was Soapy’s first play. Until he moved they could not. They had no legal evidence except the word of Curly. Nor did they know on what night he had planned to pull off the hold-up. If they were to make a complete gather of the outfit, with evidence enough to land them in the penitentiary, it could only be after the hold-up.
Meanwhile there was nothing to do but wait and take what precautions they could against being caught by surprise. One of these was to see that Sam was never for an instant left unguarded either day or night. Another was to ride to Tin Cup and look the ground over carefully. For the present they could do no more than watch events, attracting no attention by any whispering together in public.
Before the conference broke up Kate came in with her protest.
“That’s all very well, but what about Mr. Flandrau? He can’t stay in Saguache with that man threatening to kill him on sight.”
“Don’t worry about me, Miss Kate;” and Curly looked at her and blushed.
Her father smiled grimly. “No, I wouldn’t, Kate. He isn’t going to be troubled by that wolf just now.”
“Doesn’t stand to reason he’d spoil all his plans just to bump me off.”