"To-morrow? To-morrow will be too late. That's what I'm gettin' at. Max is ugly——"
Wray clenched his bony fingers over the chair arm and leaned across the desk.
"Max!" he whispered angrily. "What——?"
"He's afther more money. He talked pretty big last night, but this mornin'——" He broke off breathlessly. "Oh, I've had the h—l of a day——"
"What did he say?"
"He's talkin' of goin' to the mine owner. He says, after all, Cort Bent never harmed him any, and it's only a matter of who gives him the most."
Wray got to his feet and took two or three rapid turns up and down the room.
"D—n him!" he muttered. And then suddenly, "Where is he now?"
"Up the bar playing pinochle with Fritz."
"Are you sure?"