It was another well-placed shot, and he saw Rankin
flush heavily with pleasure. Scottie tilted his
box back against the wall and delivered his counterstroke:
“He said the same thing to me earlier on in the
evening,” he remarked casually. “But
I told him where to go. I told him that I was
with the bunch first and last and all the time.
That’s why he hates me!”
While he searched desperately for an answer, Andrew
found none. Then he saw the stupid, big eyes
of Jeff wander from his face to the face of Scottie,
and he knew that his previous advantage had been completely
neutralized.
“Boys,” he said, and he surveyed the restless,
savage figures of Clune and La Roche, “I’ve
come for a little plain talk. There’s no
more question about me leadin’ the gang.
None at all. I wouldn’t lead you, La Roche,
nor you, Clune, nor you, Scottie. There’s
only one man here that’s clean—and
he’s Jeff Rankin.”
He waited for that point to sink home; as Scottie
opened his lips to strike back, he went ahead deliberately.
By retaining his own calm he saw that he kept a great
advantage. Rankin began fumbling at his cup;
Scottie instantly filled it half full with whisky.
“Don’t drink that,” said Andrew
sharply. “Don’t drink it, Jeff.
Scottie’s doin’ that on purpose to get
you sap headed!”
“Do what he says,” said Scottie calmly.
“Throw the dirty stuff away, Jeff. Do what
your daddy tells you. You ain’t old enough
to know your own mind, are you?”
Big Jeff flushed, cast a glance of defiance that included
both Andrew and Scottie, and tossed off the whisky.
It was a blow over the heart for Andrew; he had to
finish his talking now, before Jeff Rankin was turned
mad by the whisky. And if he worked it well, Jeff
would be on his side. The madness would fight
for Andrew.
He said: “There’s no more question
about me being a leader for you. Personally,
I’d like to have Jeff—not to follow
me, but to be pals with me.”
Jeff cleared his throat and looked about with foolish
importance. Not an eye wavered to meet his glance;
every look was fixed with a hungry hate upon Andrew.
“There’s only one thing up between the
lot of us: Do I keep Hal Dozier, or do you get
him—to murder him? Do you fellows ride
on your way free and easy, to do what you please,
or do you tackle me in that room, eat my lead, and
then, if you finish me, get a chance to kill a man
that’s nearly dead now? How does it look
to you, boys? Think it over. Think sharp!”
He knew while he spoke that there was one exquisitely
simple way to end both his life and the life of Dozier—let
them touch a match to the building and shoot him while
he ran from the flames. But he could only pray
that they would not see it.
“And besides, I’ll do more. You think
you have a claim on Dozier. I’ll buy him
from you. Here’s half his weight in gold.
Will you take the money and clear out? Or are
you going to make the play at me? If you do,
you’ll buy whatever you get at a high price!”
“You forget—” put in Scottie,
but Andrew interrupted.
