“But you and I have all the stock—all the gain,” protested Lawson.
“I'll split mine.”
“I won't—that settles that,” added Lawson, instantly.
Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
“Your stock and property will last a long time—do you lots of good when this ranger—”
“Bah!” hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to powder. “Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon—any time—same as Laramie is?”
“Yes, you mentioned the—the supposition,” replied Longstreth, sarcastically. “I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to be brought about.”
“The gang will lay him out.”
“Bah!” retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
“Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in all that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough to see him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only way to get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he's going to drop some of them.”