"Yuh make me sick. Yuh shore do."
"Think it over. Think it over."
"Think nothin' over! I ain't in love with Miss Burr, an' I ain't a-goin' to be. Yuh can gamble on that, old-timer. As a woman-wrangler I'm a good hoss an' cowman, an' hereafter from now on I'm a-stickin' to what I know best."
Loudon relapsed into sulky silence. Yet for the life of him he could not be wholly angry with Scotty Mackenzie. No one could. Scotty was Scotty, and, where another man would have been shot, Scotty went scatheless.
"Slick!" said Scotty, ten minutes after arriving at the Flying M; "Slick, I guess yes. The feller that wrote that letter knowed my writin' better'n I do myself. Don't blame yuh a mite, Doubleday, for bein' fooled. Don't blame yuh a mite.
"I'll fix this trick for good and all. Hereafter I don't write no more letters to yuh, see? Then if our forgin' brother takes his pen in hand again it won't do him no good.... What? No, I'm too sleepy. You go down an' ask Loudon. He was the centre o' curiosity, an' he knows more about that riot at the Bend than I do."
When Doubleday had gone Scotty Mackenzie did not act like a person overcome by sleep. He lit a cigarette, slid down in his chair, and put his feet on the desk.
"Yo're a great man, Scotty," he chuckled. "Yes, sir, I dunno as I ever seen yore like. I didn't know yuh was such a deeplomat. No, sir, I shore didn't."
But Mr. Mackenzie did not realize that Loudon in his statements regarding possible affection for Miss Dorothy Burr meant exactly what he said.
On the corral fence Loudon sat with Telescope Laguerre and related his adventures. The half-breed hearkened sympathetically. Occasionally he removed the cigarette from his lips in order to swear.