Rimrock squared his great shoulders and his eyes sparkled dangerously as he faced L. W. in the aisle.
"Now listen!" he went on after a tense moment of silence, "what's the use of making a row? I know I lied to you—I had to do it in order to get the money. I just framed that on purpose so I could get back to New York where a proposition like mine would be appreciated. I was a bum, in Gunsight; but back in New York, where they think in millions, they treated me like a king."
"I don't want to talk to you," rumbled L. W. moving off, "you lied once too often, and I've quit ye!"
"All right!" answered Rimrock, "that suits me, too. All I ask is—what's the damage?"
"Thirty-seven hundred and fifty-five dollars," snapped back L. W. venomously, "and I'd sell out for thirty-seven cents."
"You won't have to," said Rimrock with business directness and flashed a great roll of bills.
"There's four thousand," he said, peeling off four bills, "you can keep the change for pilon."
There was one thing about L. W., he was a poker player of renown and accustomed to thinking quick. He took one look at that roll of bills and waved the money away.
"Nope! Keep it!" he said. "I don't want your money—just let me in on this deal."
"Huh!" grunted Rimrock, "for four thousand dollars? You must think I've been played for a sucker. No, four hundred thousand dollars wouldn't give you a look-in on the pot that I've opened this trip."