"
"My God, boys," burst out Vic, "d'you think I'm a plain, low-down,
murderin' snake? Harry, ain't you got a word for me? Are you like the rest
of 'em?"
No voice answered.
"Harry," said Ronicky, "why don't you speak to him?"
It was a brutal thing to do, but Ronicky was never a gentle sort in his
best moments; he scratched a match and held it so that under the
spluttering light Gregg found himself staring into the face of Harry
Fisher. And he could not turn his eyes away until the match burned down to
Ronicky's finger tip and then dropped in a streak of red to the ground.
Then the sheriff spoke cold and hard.
"Partner," he said, "in the old days, maybe your line of talk would do some
good, but not now. You picked that fight with Blondy. You knew you was
faster on the draw and Hansen didn't have a chance. He was the worst shot
in Alder and everybody in Alder knew it. You picked that fight and you
killed your man, and you're goin' to hang for it."
Another hush; no murmur of assent or dissent.
"But they's one way out for you, Gregg, and I'm layin' it clear.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119