“Go on and tell him then,”—Chadron spoke with a dare in his words, and derision—“that’ll be easy money, and it won’t call for any nerve. But you don’t need to be plannin’ any speech from the gallus—you’ll never go that fur if you try to double-cross me!”
“I ain’t aimin’ to double-cross no man, but you can call it that if it suits you. You can call it whatever you purty damn well care to—I’m done!”
Chadron made no reply to that. He was pulling on his great gloves, frowning savagely, as if he meant to close the matter with what he had said, and go.
“Do I git any money, or don’t I?” Thorn asked, sharply.
“When you bring in that wolf’s tail.”
“I ain’t a-goin’ to touch that feller, I tell you, Chad. That man means bad luck to me—I can read it in the cards.”
“Maybe you call that kind of skulkin’ livin’ up to your big name?” Chadron spoke in derision, playing on the vanity which he knew to be as much a part of that old murderer’s life as the blood of his merciless heart.
“I’ve got glory enough,” said Thorn, satisfaction in his voice; “what I want right now’s money.”
“Earn it before you collect it.”