“What for?”
“For common decency’s sake. If you admit that the mining-camp dives ought to be wiped out, you’ll also have to admit the facts concerning that girl. I know you’ve been befriending her honestly—the only mistake you made was in not putting a bullet through Tom Judson before you turned him loose—but you must know that a man of your stripe can’t befriend any woman without making her pay the penalty.”
“A man of my stripe, eh?—well, I reckon that’s so, too.”
“Then you are not here to pick a quarrel with me over Judith?”
“Hell, no; not in a thousand years!”
“Then what did you come for? Did Lushing send you?”
“Jim Lushing? He can’t send me nowhere. He ain’t got the insides.”
David Vallory had reached the end of his resources. There was apparently nothing for it but to wait patiently until Dargin was ready to disclose the object of the midnight visit; and he seemed to be in no manner of haste.
David unbuckled his uncomfortable weapon and tossed it aside. “I can’t think of any other grouch that you might have,” he said, with the nearest approach to his former good-natured smile that he had been able to achieve since the moon of Virginia Grillage’s favor had gone into eclipse for him. Then he dug into Plegg’s locker and brought out the first assistant’s cherished box of “perfectos.” “Your smoke is about used up; have another,” he offered.
Dargin helped himself, and took the lighted match that David held out to him. Then the flitting shadow that passed for a smile began at the corners of the hard-bitted mouth and crept slowly up to the murderous eyes.