THE AGREEMENT
Jed Parker straightened his back, rolled up the bandana handkerchief, and thrust it into his pocket, hit flat with his hand the touselled mass of his hair, and thrust the long hunting knife into its sheath.
"You're the man I want," said he.
Instantly the two-gun man had jerked loose his weapons and was covering the foreman.
"AM I!" he snarled.
Not jest that way," explained Parker. "My gun is on my hoss, and you can have this old toad-sticker if you want it. I been looking for you, and took this way of finding you. Now, let's go talk."The stranger looked him in the eye for nearly a half minute without lowering his revolvers.
"I go you," said he briefly, at last.
But the crowd, missing the purport, and in fact the very occurrence of this colloquy, did not understand. It thought the bluff had been called, and naturally, finding harmless what had intimidated it, gave way to an exasperated impulse to get even.
"You -- -- -- bluffer!" shouted a voice, "don't you think you can run any such ranikaboo here!"Jed Parker turned humorously to his companion.
"Do we get that talk?" he inquired gently.
For answer the two-gun man turned and walked steadily in the direction of the man who had shouted. The latter's hand strayed uncertainly toward his own weapon, but the movement paused when the stranger's clear, steel eye rested on it.
"This gentleman," pointed out the two-gun man softly, "is an old friend of mine. Don't you get to calling of him names."His eye swept the bystanders calmly.
"Come on, Jack," said be, addressing Parker.
On the outskirts be encountered the Mexican from whom he bad borrowed the knife.
"Here, Tony," said he with a slight laugh, "here's a peso.
You'll find your knife back there where I had to drop her."He entered a saloon, nodded to the proprietor, and led the way through it to a boxlike room containing a board table and two chairs.
"Make good,"he commanded briefly.
"I'm looking for a man with nerve," explained Parker, with equal succinctness. "You're the man.""Well?"
"Do you know the country south of here?"
The stranger's eyes narrowed.
"Proceed," said he.
"I'm foreman of the Lazy Y of Soda Springs Valley range,"explained Parker. "I'm looking for a man with sand enough and sabe of the country enough to lead a posse after cattle-rustlers into the border country.""I live in this country," admitted the stranger.
"So do plenty of others, but their eyes stick out like two raw oysters when you mention the border country. Will you tackle it?""What's the proposition?"
"Come and see the old man. He'll put it to you."They mounted their horses and rode the rest of the day. The desert compassed them about, marvellously changing shape and colour, and every character, with all the noiselessness of phantasmagoria. At evening the desert stars shone steady and unwinking, like the flames of candles. By moonrise they came to the home ranch.
