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Miss Spitfire well?" "Miss Cullison didn't mention her health. We were concerned about yours." "Yes?" "Cullison is headed for town and his daughter is afraid he is on the warpath against you." "You don't say." "She wanted me to get you out of her father's way until he has cooled down." "Very kind of her." "She's right, too. You and Luck mustn't meet yet.
"My dear young lady, that is what everyone is asking." "What do you mean? Say it." There was fear as well as anger in her voice. Had her father somehow got into trouble trying to save Sam? "Oh, I'm saying nothing. But what Sheriff Bolt means is that when he gets his handcuffs on Luck Cullison, he'll have the man that can tell him where that twenty thousand is." "It's a lie."
"Thursday suits me." Cullison rose and stretched. He had impressed his strong, dominant personality upon his clothes, from the high-heeled boots to the very wrinkles in the corduroy coat he was now putting on. He bad enemies, a good many of them, but his friends were legion. "Don't hurry yourself." "Oh, I'll rustle the money, all right. Coming down to the hotel?"
He scores Cullison and he snuffs out Sam, who had had the luck to win the girl Soapy fancies. The boy gets his and the girl is shown she can't love another man than Stone." "Ever hear the story of French Dan?" asked Slats. "Not to know the right of it." "Soapy and Dan trained together in them days and went through a lot of meanness as side pardners.
"Don't be an old woman, Lute." " ... if you can do it safe. I owe Luck Cullison much as you do, but...." Again they fell to whispers. The next word that came to Curly clearly was his own name. But it was quite a minute before he gathered what they were saying. "Luck Cullison went his bail. I learnt it this mo'ning." "The son-of-a-gun. It's a cinch he's a spy.
You'll sign and you'll promise to tell nothing you know against us." "No, I don't reckon I will." Cullison was looking straight at him with his fearless level gaze. Fendrick realized with a sinking heart that he could not drive him that way to surrender. He knew that in the other man's place he would have given way, that his enemy was gamer than he was.
Knowing Luck as he did, it was hard for him to see how pressure enough had been brought to bear to move him. "May I use your 'phone?" he asked. "Help yourself." Fendrick pretended to have lost interest. He returned to his newspaper, but his ears were alert to catch what went on over the wires. It was always possible that Cullison might play him false and break the agreement.
Surprise, doubt, wonder, relief filled in turn the face of the other man. "I'm listening, Curly." His friend told him the whole story from the beginning, just as he had been used to do in the old days. And Davis heard it without a word, taking the tale in quietly with a grim look settling, on his face. "So he aims to play traitor to young Cullison. The thing is damnable."
The moonlight played strange tricks with the mesquit and the giant cactus, a grove of which gave to the place an awesome aspect of some ghostly burial ground of a long vanished tribe. Next day they reached Saguache. Bucky took his prisoner straight to the ranger's office and telephoned to Cullison. "Don't I get anything to eat?" growled the convict while they waited. "When I'm ready."
"Or you wouldn't have been talking about me," retorted Fendrick acidly. The words were flung at Flandrau, but plainly they were meant as a challenge for Cullison. A bearded man, the oldest in the party, cut in with good-natured reproof. "I shouldn't wonder, Cass, but your name is liable to be mentioned just like that of any other man."
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