"I'll fix the money part," he said. Reaching into his warbag he drew forth a package of bills. He split it in half without counting, tossing one half to Blake as he would have tossed a bone to a dog. "There you are! Anything else?"
"Well, I don't want—" Blake began, but Gavin cut him short.
"You needn't lie. I've seen this in the back of your mind for days. You'll go now, whether you want to or not! Our trails fork in the morning, and you play your own hand. But if you try to save your hide by helping that bunch back there, I'll kill you. And that's cold!"
Blake could not meet the cold blue eyes that bored into his.
"You held out on me in the first place," he said. "This is your show, not mine."
"You—" Larry began.
"Shut up!" said Gavin. "Let him alone. Take what grub you want in the morning, Blake, and go your own way. And now I'm going to sleep."
He rolled his blanket around him and lay down. Gerald and Larry followed his example. Blake, to show his indifference, set by the fire for a time, smoking sullenly; but soon he too turned in.
It was dark when he awoke, but Gavin was already cooking breakfast, Larry and Gerald rolling blankets. He shared the meal, but nobody spoke to him. Larry brought in three horses, but Blake had to go for his own. Fresh snow, fallen in the night, lay on the ground, but it was merely a skift which would go with the sun.
The east was rose and gold when they mounted. High to the westward the sun, as yet invisible, struck the eastern face of a great snow-wrapped peak, playing on it dazzlingly. The cold of the high altitudes nipped; the breath of the gaunt horses hung in steam.