Rock kicked the glowing coals aside. His own face was white.
“Spill it all,” he snarled. “I know enough to tab you if you try to stall.”
For the next ten minutes words tumbled out of Stack in short, jerky sentences. Here and there Rock put a question.
“An’ that’s all I know,” Stack gasped at last.
“It’s enough—plenty,” Rock said. “I’m tickled to death you waylaid me to-day.”
“What you goin’ to do with me?” Stack muttered, as Rock stood over him in brooding silence.
“If I were some people I know you’d never get out of this draw alive,” Rock said. “You certainly have it coming. I’m not just sure I ought to turn you loose.”
“All I want is a chance to get a long ways from this country now,” the man declared.
“I wonder what Buck Walters would do to you if you went to him and told him I pried all this out of you?”
“I ain’t crazy,” Stack protested. “You turn me loose, an’ neither you nor Buck Walters’ll ever see me for the cloud of dust I’ll raise foggin’ it to Idaho or Oregon, or some place a long ways from the Marias River. I know when I got enough.”