“What in the hell do you mean by comin’ around here?” Chadron demanded angrily. “Didn’t I tell you never to come here? you blink-eyed old snag-shin!”
“You told me,” Thorn admitted, putting his rifle down across a chair, drawing another to the table, and seating himself in readiness for the coming meal.
“Then what’d you sneak—”
“News,” said Thorn, in his brief way.
“Which news?” Chadron brightened hopefully, his implements, clamped in his hairy fists, inviting the first bolt from the heavens.
“I got him last night.”
“You got—him?” Chadron lifted himself from his chair on his bent legs in the excitement of the news.
“And I’m through with this job. I’ve come to cash in, and quit.”
“The hell you say!”