"Steady," he warned. "There are still four shots left in that gun."
Hamilton relaxed.
"You don't care what the little fellows do to you," said Monte. "But you don't want to queer yourself any further with her, do you? Now, listen. She thinks you tried to shoot yourself. By that much I have a hunch she thinks the better of you."
Hamilton groaned,
"And because I believe what you told me about her," he ran on, fighting for breath—"just because—because I believe the shooting fits into that, I 'm glad to—to have her think that little the better of you, Hamilton."
The interior of the cab was beginning to move slowly around in a circle. He leaned back his head a second to steady himself—his white lips pressed together.
"So—so—clear out," he whispered.
"You—you won't tell her?"
"No. But—clear out, quick."
Hamilton opened the cab door.