Duncan did not answer,
his face had grown suddenly dark with passion, as it always did when
Dakota's name was mentioned. Langford smiled subtly. "I suppose," he said,
"that Dakota might be called a bad man."

Duncan's eyes flashed with venom. "I reckon Dakota's nothing but a damned
sneak!" he said, not being able to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

Langford did not allow his smile to be seen; he had not forgotten the
incident of the returning of Dakota's horse by Duncan.

"He's a dead shot, though," he suggested.

"I'm allowing that," grudgingly returned Duncan. "And," he added, "it's
been hinted that all his shooting scrapes haven't been on the level."

"He is not straight, then?" said Langford, his eyes gleaming. "Not
'square,' as you say in this country?"

"I reckon there ain't nothing square about him," returned Duncan, glad of
an opportunity to defame his enemy.

Again Langford did not allow Duncan to see his smile, and he deftly
directed the current of the conversation into other channels.

He rode out again that day, taking the river trail and passing Dakota's
cabin, but Dakota himself was nowhere to be seen and at dusk Langford
returned to the Double R. During the evening meal he enveloped himself
with a silence which proved impenetrable. He retired early, to Duncan's
surprise, and the next morning, without announcing his plans to anyone,
saddled his pony and rode away toward the river trail.

He took a circuitous route to reach it, riding slowly, with the air and
manner of a man who is thinking deep thoughts, smiling much, though many
times grimly.

"Dakota isn't square," he said once aloud during one of his grim smiles.

When he came to the quicksand crossing he halted and examined the earth in
the vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks and hoof prints in the
hard sand near the water's edge. Then he rode on.

Two or three miles from the quicksand crossing he came suddenly upon
Dakota's cabin. Dakota himself was repairing a saddle in the shade of the
cabin wall, and for all that Langford could see he was entirely unaware of
his approach. He saw Dakota look up when he passed the corral gate, and
when he reached a point about twenty feet distant he observed a faint
smile on Dakota's face.

"Howdy, stranger," came the latter's voice.

"How are you, my friend?" greeted Langford easily.

It was not hard for Langford to adopt an air of familiarity toward the man
who had figured prominently