Duncan grinned. "You might call it careless," he returned. "No doubt there are people--people who come out here from the East--who think that a man who carries a gun out here is careless with it. But I reckon that when a man draws a gun here he draws it with a pretty definite purpose." "I have heard," continued Langford slowly, "that there are men in this country who do not hesitate to kill other people for money." "Meaning that there are road agents and such?" questioned Duncan. "Naturally, that particular kind would be included. I meant, however another kind--I believe they are called 'bad men,' are they not? Men who kill for hire?" Duncan cast a furtive glance at Langford out of the corners of his eyes, but could draw no conclusions concerning the latter's motive in asking the question from the expression of his face. "Such men drift in occasionally," he returned, convinced that Langford's curiosity was merely casual--as Langford desired him to consider it. "Usually, though, they don't stay long." "I suppose there are none of that breed around here--in Lazette, for instance. It struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily handy with a gun." He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, though 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.