Pete,” he said quietly. “But you’re some reckless with the English language when you’re calling him my friend. Maybe he’ll be proving that he didn’t mean to skin me on that deal.”
He smiled again and then left the bar and strode toward Blanca. The latter continued his card playing, apparently unaware of Dakota’s approach, but at the sound of his former victim’s voice he turned and looked up slowly, his face wearing a bland smile.
It was plain to Moulin that Blanca had known all along of Dakota’s presence in the saloon – perhaps he had seen him enter. The other card players ceased playing and leaned back in their chairs, watching, for some of them knew something of the calf deal, and there was that in Dakota’s greeting to Blanca which warned them of impending trouble.
“Blanca,” said Dakota quietly, “you can pay for those calves now.”
It pleased Blanca to dissemble. But it was plain to Moulin – as it must have been plain to everybody who watched Blanca – that a shadow crossed his face at Dakota’s words. Evidently he had entertained a hope that his duplicity had not been discovered.
“Calves?” he said. “What calves, my frien’?” He dropped his cards to the table and turned his chair around, leaning far back in it and hooking his right thumb in his cartridge belt, just above the holster of his pistol. “I theenk it mus’ be mistak’.”
“Yes,” returned Dakota, a slow, grimly humorous smile reaching his face, “it was a mistake. You made it, Blanca. Duncan found it out. Duncan took the calves – they belonged to him. You’re going to pay for them.”
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