"Jack's dead. Three slugs in the head."
Matt's face darkened. He looked up at Loevy. "Jack wanted to go down to the ship, too. Tried to go down quiet-like." He set about skinning the first coyote, tossing the rest of the game to the group of silent men sitting around the fire near Moe. "You're wasting your time, stranger. Stick around a while. Be patient, like us. The Bulldog can't hold out forever."
Loevy ran a hand through his dark hair, watching Matthews with sharp brown eyes. "I wasn't figuring on going down quiet-like," he said.
Matt looked up as though seeing the man for the first time, his eyes dark with suspicion. "Then how do you plan to go?" His hand moved to the gun at his side, and he began massaging the stock with his huge paw.
Loevy glanced at the gun without fear. "Under a truce flag," he said.
Matthews spat. "Old man Gorham has command of four hundred men down at the ship. They'll shoot anybody that comes close on sight." He looked up at Moe, caught the old man's blue eyes sharply. "I don't like this guy, Moe. I think we'd better take care of him."
Moe shook his head. "Take it easy, Matt. The man thinks maybe he can get this siege broken. Thinks Gorham may surrender if he knows what's happened—in Washington, all over the country."
Loevy nodded, bobbing his head eagerly. "I knew Gorham—before the crash. He's an old-guard soldier, he'll honor a truce flag." His voice was crisp in the still night air. "You want to get your hands on that ship—that's all you want, the whole crowd of you out here. Nothing else. So why risk a fight, risk getting killed, if I can get Gorham to surrender to you?"
Matt grinned unpleasantly. "Why do you think they call him the Bulldog? He'll never give up—until we starve him out. We've got the time, and the men, and the food. They can't last much longer—"
Loevy frowned in annoyance. "I say you may not need to wait."