ould
happen to him if he were caught listening was not a matter of doubt. Soapy
would pump lead into him till he quit kicking, slap a saddle on a broncho,
and light out for the Sonora line.

As the phonograph finished unexpectedly--someone had evidently interrupted
the record--the fragment of a sentence seemed to jump at Curly.

" ... so the kid will get his in the row."

It was the voice of Soapy, raised slightly to make itself heard above the
music.

"Take care," another voice replied, and Flandrau would have sworn that
this belonged to Blackwell.

Stone, who had been sitting on the other side of the table, moved close to
the paroled convict. Between him and Curly there was only the thickness of
a plank. The young man was afraid that the knocking of his heart could be
heard.

" ... don't like it," Blackwell was objecting sullenly.

"Makes it safe for us. Besides"--Stone's voice grated like steel rasping
steel, every word distinct though very low--"I swore to pay off Luck
Cullison, and by God! I'm going to do it."

"Someone will hear you if you ain't careful," the convict protested
anxiously.

"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. And me wanting you to let him
in so's he could hold the sack instead of Sam."

"Knew it wouldn't do, Lute. He's smart as a whip."

"Reckon he knows anything?"

"No. Can't."

"If I thought he did----"

"Keep your shirt on, Lute. He don't know a thing. And you get revenge on
him all right. Sam will run with him and his friends while he's here.
Consequence is, when they find the kid where we leave him they'll sure
guess Curly for one of his pardners. Tell you his ticket is good as bought
to Yuma. He's a horse thief. Why shouldn't he be a train robber, too.
That's how a jury will argue."

Blackwell grumbled something under his breath.

Stone's voice grated harshly. "Me too. If he crosses my trail I'm liable
to spoil his hide before court meets. No man alive can play me for a
sucker and throw me down. Not Soapy Stone."

Once more the voices ran together indistinctly. It was not till Blackwell
suggested that they go get a drink that Curly understood