"I don't know it," asserted Baldwin stoutly. "But go on. You've got your gun loaded: what are you aiming it at?"
"Just this: there is a chance that you'll lose the dam by natural causes before the concrete hardens; but if you don't, you're sure to lose it the other way. I told you weeks ago that the other people were carrying too many big guns for you. I don't want to see you killed off, Dexter."
"I'm no quitter; you ought to know that, Dave," was the blunt rejoinder.
"I know; but there are times when it is simply foolhardy to hold on. The compromise proposition that I put up to you people a while back still holds good. But to-day is the last day, Dexter. You must accept it now, if you are going to accept it at all."
"And if we still refuse?"
"You'll go smash, the whole kit of you. As I've said, this is the last call."
By this time Baldwin's cigar was a hopeless wreck.
"You've got something up your sleeve, Dave: what is it?" he inquired.
The banker pursed his lips and the bristling mustache assumed its most aggressive angle.
"There are a number of things, but the one which concerns you most, just now, is this: we've got Smith's record, at last. He is an outlaw, with a price on his head. We've dug out the whole story. He is a defaulting bank cashier, and before he ran away he tried to kill his president."