be all day with the banker's future schemes in that country. He would be a lucky man, indeed, if he didn't stretch a lariat on somebody's up-ended wagon-tongue.
In the morning, Texas determined, his first business would be to hire a horse and ride to Duncan's, and lay the matter before the president of the Cattle Raisers' Association. For there could be no mistaking Stott; there could not be two men in the world, indeed, affected with voices such as his, and especially not in the small compass of Cottonwood and its tributary range.
But why wait for morning to go to Duncan's? The thought took hold of him with the eagerness of fire in dry grass. The desire to vindicate himself, and stand clean in the eyes of the men who had trusted him, was in his throat like a thirst. Duncan would return to Cottonwood with him; they could be there by the time Stott opened the bank in the morning.
Within half an hour Hartwell was on his way to Duncan's ranch, the cool night wind in his hot face as he galloped with free rein over the old cattle trail that led back into his native land.
