Bill was crying and couldn't answer.
"Time's up," announced Kal.
Hal's hands had been tied ever since he had been caught through the window by the Indians and disarmed. Now they led him over to the barn, tied his feet together, and Curley was placing a bandanna handkerchief over his eyes.
"I rather you wouldn't do that, if you don't mind," said Hal.
"It's fer me," explained Curley in an almost tender voice. "I got to stay here with you, and I—Well, you understand."
Hal understood and made no further protest.
"Boys," said McShay with a solemnity most unusual to him, "I think you're a committin' murder, and I won't stay and see you do it. You can have my share of the asphalt—I wouldn't have it. It's blood money."
And he walked off, followed by Smith and Lee, and they made the greatest haste to secure their horses and get away before the silent thing hung in the silent air.
"You might as well make it two instead of one, for I won't quit the country. I'll bring some one to justice for this," said Bill through his tears.
"Bill," called the victim in a pleading voice, "live to do what I told you, for my sake."