You figured I'd resist arrest, and you'd have a
chance to shoot me down. I know your rotten mind better than you do. You
wanted to bump me off, but you wanted to do it in a way that'd put you
in right with the public. Killing me for kidnapping this girl would
sound damn romantic in the newspapers, and it wouldn't have a thing to
do with Thurman or Frank Johnson, or any of the rest that I've sent over
the trail for you.
"Right now you're figuring how you'll get around this bawling-out I'm
giving you. There's nobody to take down what I say, and I'm just a mean,
ornery outlaw and killer, talking for spite. With your pull you expect
to get this smoothed over and hushed up, and have me at a hanging bee,
and everything all right for Bill! Well----"
His eyes left Warfield's face and went beyond the staring group. His
face darkened, a sneer twisted his lips.
"Who're them others?" he cried harshly. "Was you afraid four wouldn't be
enough to take me?"
The four turned heads to look. Bill Warfield never looked back, for Al's
gun spoke, and Warfield sagged at the knees and the shoulders, and he
slumped to the ground at the instant when Al's gun spoke again.
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