had unnerved him, but the explanation was not satisfying. Through it all, he had an underlying feeling that something was wrong; yet he had no thought of altering his plans. He wanted money, and he wanted Dora. The combination was sufficient to nerve him to take chances.
Tubbs was waiting in the gulch. Smith looked at the spot where White Antelope’s body had lain, and reflected that it was curious how long the black stain of blood would stay on sand and gravel. He had been lucky to get out of that scrape so easily, he told himself as he rode by.
“I guess you know what you’re up against, feller,” he said bluntly, as he and Tubbs met.
“I inclines to the opinion that it’s a little cattle deal,” Tubbs replied facetiously.
“You inclines right. Now, here’s our play—listen. The Bar C outfit is workin’ up in the mountains, so