The bitter wind
still moaned about the ranch, emphasizing its loneliness, and the cedar
shingles rattled dolefully overhead, while it chanced that as Winston
glanced towards the roof his eyes rested on the suspended piece of
rancid pork which, with a little flour and a few potatoes, had during
the last few months provided him with sustenance. It was of course a
trifle, but it tipped the beam, as trifles often do, and the man who
was tired of all it symbolized straightened himself with a little
mirthless laugh.
"On your word of honor there is nothing beyond the risk of a few days'
detention which can affect me?" he said.
"No," said Courthorne solemnly, knowing that he lied. "On my honor.
The troopers could only question you. Is it a deal?"
"Yes," said Winston simply, stretching out his hand for the roll of
bills the other flung down on the table, and, while one of the
contracting parties knew that the other would regret it bitterly, the
bargain was made. Then Courthorne laughed in his usual indolent
fashion as he said, "Well, it's all decided, and I don't even ask your
word. To-morrow will see the husk sloughed off and for a fortnight
you'll be Lance Courthorne. I hope you feel equal to playing the role
with credit, because I wouldn't entrust my good fame to everybody."
Winston smiled dryly. "I fancy I shall," he said, and long afterwards
recalled the words. "You see, I had ambitions in my callow days, and
it's not my fault that hitherto I've never had a part to play.
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