Wint flushed, as though he were ashamed of what he had done. “I don’t understand this,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you want? Out with it!”
Amos said: “Want to help you, any way we can.”
Wint’s eyes narrowed, and he flung out a hand. “You’re too darned mysterious, Amos.”
Amos lighted his pipe. “Well, Wint, I don’t aim to be,” he declared. “I’m talking straight as I know. B. B. and me are on your side; that’s all. We’re taking orders from you. We do anything you say.”
Wint laughed, a sudden, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard they give a condemned man anything he wants—the last morning,” he exclaimed.
Amos nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard tell o’ that. But what’s that got to do with this?”
“Plain enough, I should think.”
“You don’t count yourself a condemned man; now, do you?”
“I should think so.”
Amos shook his head doubtfully. “And here I thought you said last night you didn’t aim to quit.”