“Was not acceptable. It betrayed too plainly the influence—the style, we might say—of the James brothers.”
“William and Henry?”
“Jesse and Frank. Man, dear,” said Neighbor with sudden, vehement bitterness, “you and me, we’re no great shakes. You’re goin’ to rob young Drake and I’m going to take hush money for it; but this man Bennett is a stinking, rancid, gray-headed old synonym. He is so scared he won’t be happy till he gets that boy killed. If I was as big a coward as that, durned if I’d steal at all!”
Baca struck the table sharply; splotches of angry red flamed in his cheeks.
“And I told him I wouldn’t stand for it! Damn him! Look here, Jones, you ought to be boiled in oil for your stupefying insolence; but, just to punish him, I’ll make Bennett pay your price. It will be like drawing teeth; give me time.”
Chapter VII
THE rain drenched in long shudders. Here and there a late lamp blurred dimly at a pane; high-posted street lamps, at unequal and ineffectual distances, glowed red through the slant lines of rain, reflected faintly from puddle and gutter at their feet. Alone, bent, boring into the storm, Martin Bennett shouldered his way to Baca’s door under the rushing night.
A gush of yellow struck across the dark—the door opened at his first summons; he was waited for. The master of the house helped him from his raincoat and ushered him through crimson portières into a warm and lighted room. Three men sat before an open fire, where a table gleamed with glasses and bottles. There were two other doors, hung, like the first, with warm, bright colors, reflecting and tingeing the light from fire and lamp—a cheerful contrast to the raw, bleak night outside.
Here the good cheer ceased. The three faces, as they turned to scowl at the newcomer, were sullen, distrustful and lowering.
Despite the raincoat, Bennett was sodden to his knees; his hands and face and feet were soaked and streaming. No friendly voice arose to remark on his plight; an ominous silence had prevailed since the street door had opened to him. He bent shivering to the fire. With no word the host filled and brought to him a stiff glass of liquor. Bennett drained it eagerly and a little color crept back into his pinched features.