there left on the place." He hesitated again. "I didn't want to come
here----"

Laramie sprang to his feet: "Where the hell else would you go?"

Hawk heard unmoved the rough assurance; perhaps his eyes flashed, for
Laramie's voice rang strong and true. He already had his hand on
Hawk's chair: "Come over here to the light," he said, "till we get some
of this dirt off you. You need a bath, Abe. For a clean man you look
like----"

Hawk put up his right hand: "I'll do for all the job that's left ahead
of me."

"What job's left ahead of you?"

"You've got a rifle like mine, Jim; the Marlin you don't use."

"Well?"

"I come to see if you'd lend it to me again."

"Why not?"

"Got any shells for it?" snapped Hawk.

"I guess so."

"I left the horse at the cabin to stand 'em off awhile. They'll lose a
little time there. They'll come down the creek--can't come any other
way. I'm going to wait for 'em in the timber."

"What for?"

"I'll finish with Doubleday and Van Horn, anyhow. Maybe I can with
Stone."

"And they'll finish with you."

"After I get them three the rest are welcome to what's left of me.
I've got to be moving."

"Hold on a minute, Abe." Laramie sat down on the side of his cot, his
knees spread apart, his elbows resting on them, and his hands clasped
as he leaned forward, head down, to think.

"Them fellows are riding every minute," Hawk reminded him grimly.

"Let's talk this thing over," persisted Laramie.

"I'll pay you for your rifle right now," mumbled Hawk, feeling with his
right hand in his trousers pocket for some gold pieces.

"Don't talk monkey stuff, Abe."

"Then don't make a monkey out of _me_," snapped Hawk. "Give me your
rifle and let me go!"

"After we've talked it over."

Hawk pulled himself up out of the chair. "You blamed fool," he said
brokenly. "Don't you know that bunch will track me to your door and
smash us with lead or burn us up in this shack if they get here first?
Give me the rifle," he thundered, "or I'll go into the timber with this
six-shooter. What do you mean? Are you going to turn yellow on me
because I'm a thief?"

Laramie moved neither hand nor foot: "You're an older man than I am,
Abe," he replied, without even looking up. "I can take words from you,
I'd hate to take from anybody else--you know that; and you know why.
You won't talk; all right. Now I'll tell you where you get off; you're
not going down to the timber--not a blamed st