"That I heard you gassin' about Betty to your Red Dog friends. You rattled it off pretty glibly. You ought to remember what you said. I'm wantin' you to repeat it while she's watchin' you. That's why I wanted you to come over here."
"Why—" began Taggart. Then he hesitated, an embarrassed, incredulous light in his shifting eyes. He looked from one to the other, not seeming to entirely comprehend the significance of the command, and then he saw the gleam in Betty's eyes, the derisive enjoyment in Dade's, the implacable glint in Calumet's, knowledge burst upon him in a sudden, sickening flood and his face paled. He looked at Calumet, the look of a trapped animal.
"Get goin'!" said the latter; "we're all waitin'."
Taggart cursed profanely, stepping back a pace and reaching for his pistol. But as in the Red Dog, Calumet was before him. Again his right hand moved with the barely perceptible motion, and his six-shooter was covering Taggart. The latter quickly withdrew his own hand, it was empty. And in response to an abrupt movement of Calumet's hand it went upward, the other following it instantly. Watchful, alert, Calumet stepped forward, plucked Taggart's pistol from its holster, threw it a dozen feet from him, swiftly passed a hand over Taggart's shirt and waistband and then stepped back.
"You've got a minute," he said. "Sixty seconds to decide whether you'd rather die with your boots on or get to talkin'. Take your time, for there won't be any arguin' afterward."
Taggart looked into Calumet's eyes. What he saw there seemed to decide him. "I reckon it's your trick," he said; "I'll talk."
"Get goin'."
"I said I'd made love to her."
A half-sneer wreathed Calumet's face. "I reckon that covers the ground pretty well. You didn't say it that way, but we won't have you repeat the exact words; they ain't fit to hear. The point is, did you tell the truth?"
"No," said Taggart. He did not look at Betty and his face was scarlet.