Just inside the
door Slone encountered Wetherby, the young rancher from Durango. Slone spoke,
but Wetherby only replied with an insolent stare. Slone did not glance at the
man to whom Wetherby was talking. Only a few people were inside the store, and
Brackton was waiting upon them. Slone stood back a little in the shadow.
Brackton had observed his entrance, but did not greet him. Then Slone
absolutely knew that for him the good will of Bostil's Ford was a thing of the
past.
Presently Brackton was at leisure, but he showed no disposition to attend to
Slone's wants. Then Slone walked up to the counter and asked for supplies.
"Have you got the money?" asked Brackton, as if addressing one he would not
trust.
"Yes," replied Slone, growing red under an insult that he knew Wetherby had
heard.
Brackton handed out the supplies and received the money, without a word. He
held his head down. It was a singular action for a man used to dealing fairly
with every one. Slone felt outraged. He hurried out of the place, with shame
burning him, with his own eyes downcast, and in his hurry he bumped square
into a burly form.
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