“Just exactly the two things, and, by heavens! the only two, I can’t manage. Come once more and I’ll meet you.”
“No!” Sinclair rose to his feet. “No––damn your money! This is my home. The high country is my country; it’s where my friends are.”
“It’s filled with your friends; I know that. But don’t put your trust in your friends. They will stay by you, I know; but once in a long while there will be a false friend, Murray, one that will sell you––remember that.”
“I stay.”
Whispering Smith looked up in admiration. “I know you’re game. It isn’t necessary for me to say that to you. But think of the fight you are going into against this company. You can worry them; you’ve done it. But a bronco might as well try to buck a locomotive as for one man or six or six hundred to win out in the way you are playing.”
“I will look out for my friends; others––” Sinclair 114 hitched his belt and paused, but Whispering Smith, cutting and running the cards, gave no heed. His eyes were fixed on the green cloth under his fingers. “Others––” repeated Sinclair.
“Others?” echoed Whispering Smith good-naturedly.
“May look out for themselves.”
“Of course, of course! Well, if this is the end of it, I’m sorry.”
“You will be sorry if you mix in a quarrel that is none of yours.”