"What made you ask me that?" he said.
Winston watched him closely, but his voice betrayed no special interest
as he said, "I fancied I saw a mark across your cheek. It seemed to me
that it had been made by a whip."
The deeper tint was more visible on Courthorne's forehead, where the
swollen veins showed a trifle, and he appeared to swallow something
before he spoke. "Aren't you asking too many questions? What has a
mark on my face to do with you?"
"Nothing," said Winston quietly. "Will you go through the conditions
again?"
Courthorne nodded. "I pay you one hundred dollars--now," he said.
"You ride south to-morrow along the Montana trail and take the risk of
the troopers overtaking you. You will remain away a fortnight at my
expense, and pass in the meanwhile for me. Then you will return at
night as rancher Winston, and keep the whole thing a secret from
everybody."
Winston sat silent and very still again for more than a minute. He
surmised that the man who made the offer had not told him all and there
was more behind, but that was, after all, of no great importance. He
was prepared to do a good deal for one hundred dollars, and his bare
life of effort and self-denial had grown almost unendurable. He had
now nothing to lose, and while some impulse urged him to the venture,
he felt that it was possible fate had in store for him something better
than he had known in the past. In the meanwhile the cigar he held went
out, and the striking of a match as Courthorne lighted another roused
him suddenly from the retrospect he was sinking into.
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