Jim Horton shrugged carelessly.
"I'll tell the truth—that's all."
"Brevity is the soul of wit. Permit me to say that I admire the succinctness of yer statement. But the alternative is impossible."
"You mean, that you'll go on with this affair——"
"Ye've guessed it, me son—as sure as ever ye find it convenient to remove the imminent and deadly weapon and yerself from my presence."
"That's final?"
Quinlevin laughed and very coolly poured himself out a glass of whisky.
"What's the use of quarreling? By a bit of mistaken heroics ye've fired yerself into the midst of my little family circle and exploded. Maybe ye've done some damage. But I'm an old bird, and I don't scare so easily. Come now. Ye wouldn't kill me out of hand. Ye're not that kind. And so—let's be reasonable. Can I pour ye a drink?"
"No, thanks——"
"As ye please. But ye've got to admit that there are two sides to this question. If the information in my possession is correct, d'ye see, ye're a deserter from the army of the United States. A word to the nearest private of the Military Police and ye're jugged, to do yer explaining to a judge advocate."