“Here, too,” nodded her foreman. “I’m with my boss clear down the line. And as soon as she lets me turn loose my six-gun, you’ll hear it pop, seh.”
“I have not a doubt of it, Mr. McWilliams,” returned the sheepman blithely. “In the meantime I was going to say that though most of my interests are in sheep instead of cattle—”
“I thought most of your interests were in other people’s property,” interrupted the young woman.
“It goes into sheep ultimately,” he smiled. “Now, what I am trying to get at is this: I’m in debt to you a heap, Miss Messiter, and since I’m not all yellow cur, I intend to play fair with you. I have ordered my sheep back across the deadline. You can have this range to yourself for your cattle. The fight’s off so far as we personally are concerned.”
A hint of deeper color touched her cheeks. Her manner had been cavalier at best; for the most part frankly hostile; and all the time the man was on an errand of good-will. Certainly he had scored at her expense, and she was ashamed of herself.
“Y’u mean that you’re going to respect the deadline? asked Mac in surprise.
“I didn’t say quite that,” explained the sheepman. “What I said was that I meant to keep on my side of it so far as the Lazy D cattle are concerned. I’ll let your range alone.”
“But y’u mean to cross it down below where the Bar Double-E cows run?”
Bannister’s gay smile touched the sardonic face. “Do you invite the public to examine your hand when you sit into a game of poker, Mr. McWilliams?”
“You’re dead right. It’s none of my business what y’u do so long as y’u keep off our range,” admitted the foreman. “And next time the conversation happens on Mr. Bannister, I’ll put in my little say-so that he ain’t all black.”