He paused inquiringly, as if to book any acceptance of this kindly offer. No such engagements being made, Pringle continued:
"Supposin' you was throwin' a baseball and your hand struck a man accidentally; you'd hurt him every time—only you'd break your arm that way. That ain't the way to strike. I'll show you."
"That wasn't no olive branch I was holdin' out," stated Nueces River.
"You'll show me nothin'—turncoat!"
"It helps a lot, too, when the man you hit is not expecting it," suggested Anastacio smoothly. "You might show me sometime—when I'm looking for it."
"Now what's biting you?" demanded Pringle testily. "What did you expect me to do—send 'em a note by registered mail?"
"I'm not speaking about Applegate. That was all right. I am speaking about your friend."
"Here; Kit's coming to life again," said Lisner.
Kitty Foy rolled over; they propped him up; he looked round rather wildly from one to the other. His face cleared. His eye fell upon Pringle, where it rested with a steady intentness. When he spoke, at last, he ignored the others entirely.
"And I thought you were my friend, Pringle. I trusted you!" he said with ominous quietness. "I'll make a note of it. I have a good memory, Pringle—and good friends. Give me some water, someone. I feel sick."
Espalin brought a canteen.