The big gambler was thinking harder then, perhaps, than he had ever
thought in his life before. He was no coward, although there was a
yellow, wolfish streak of treachery in him, and he read clearly enough
in the watchful eyes glowing behind that blue steel barrel a merciless
determination which left him nerveless. He knew Hampton would kill him
if he needed to do so, but he likewise realized that he was not likely
to fire until he had gained the information he was seeking. Cunning
pointed the only safe way out from this difficulty. Lies had served
his turn well before, and he hoped much from them now. If he only knew
how much information the other possessed, it would be easy enough. As
he did not, he must wield his weapon blindly.
"You 're makin' a devil of a fuss over little or nuthin'," he growled,
simulating a tone of disgust. "I never ain't hed no quarrel with ye,
exceptin' fer the way ye managed ter skin me at the table bout two
years ago. I don't give two screeches in hell for who you are; an'
besides, I reckon you ain't the only ex-convict a-ranging Dakota either
fer the matter o' that. No more does Murphy. We ain't no bloomin'
detectives, an' we ain't buckin' in on no business o' yourn; ye kin
just bet your sweet life on thet."
"Where is Murphy, then? I wish to see the fellow."
"I told you he'd gone. Maybe he didn't git away till this mornin', but
he's gone now all right. What in thunder do ye want o' him? I reckon
I kin tell ye all thet Murphy knows."
For a breathless moment neither spoke, Hampton fingering his gun
nervously, his eyes lingering on that brutal face.
"Slavin," he said at last, his voice hard, metallic, "I 've figured it
out, and I do know you now, you lying brute. You are the fellow who
swore you saw me throw away the gun that did the shooting, and that
afterwards you picked it up."
There was the spirit of murder in his eyes, and the gambler cowered
back before them, trembling like a child.
"I--I only swore to the last part, Captain," he muttered, his voice
scarcely audible. "I--I never said I saw you throw---"
"And I swore," went on Hampton, "that I would kill you on sight. You
lying whelp, are you ready to die?"
Slavin's face was drawn and gray, the perspiration standing in beads
upon his forehead, but he could neither speak nor think, fascinated by
those remorseless eyes, which seemed to burn their way down into his
very soul.