“Leave you here?” he said. “Not much! I ain’t going to do no such thing——”
“I said not to get hasty, didn’t I?” Fisher’s eyes hardened into blue steel.
“You can’t run no riffle on me, Fisher!” blustered Tracy. “If I don’t do it, then what?”
Fisher surveyed him a moment with that bitterly cold gaze:
“If you don’t do it,” he returned slowly, “then you got to make a heap big war talk, and do it sudden. Balance her up now, and make your play. I’m talkin’ turkey.”
In those tense features Tracy read the truth—this man was in to play the limit. And Tracy dared not back his hand; he could not trust his own cards. There was too much he did not know. He had been unable to find Buck that afternoon, and he was facing this crisis on his own backbone—which did not amount to much.
He had heard of Sam Fisher often and often. The sheriff of Pecos had a reputation, and stood behind it hard. Tracy could not tell just what this man would dare do, and he did not care to take chances on finding out.
On the other hand, he was offered a trip with a prisoner which would net him three hundred dollars reward money. He would be safely away while Fisher was playing his game. It would be certainly all right to leave Fisher, the sheriff of the next county, in charge of Pahrump while he was gone. And if Fisher got killed, what loss? None. If he did not get killed, he was apt to kill off several people who were behind Tracy. That would be no great loss either.
A grim smile curved the lips of Tracy.
“Sam, your arguments are powerful good,” he said. “There’s a couple o’ deputies outside. If you want to have the ceremony over right away——”