Evans was staring at the man in wide-eyed incredulity.
“How do you get that way?” he asked derisively.
“They’s four of us to swear to it,” said Allen; “an’ how many you got to swear you didn’t do it?”
“Why, it’s a rotten frame-up!” exclaimed Evans.
“Sure it’s a frame-up,” agreed Allen; “but we won’t use it if you behave yourself properly.”
Evans looked at the man for a long minute—dislike and contempt unconcealed upon his face.
“I guess,” he said presently, “that I don’t need any twelve thousand dollars that bad, Allen. We’ll call this thing off, as far as I am concerned. I’m through, right now. Good-by!”
He wheeled his horse to ride away.
“Hold on there, young feller!” said Allen. “Not so quick! You may think you’re through, but you’re not. We need you, and, anyway, you know too damned much for your health. You’re goin’ through with this. We got some other junk up there that there’s more profit in than what there is in booze, and it’s easier to handle. We know where to get rid of it; but the booze we can’t handle as easy as you can, and so you’re goin’ to handle it.”
“Who says I am?”