“Hazelton and I went through that fire,” Tom retorted sternly. “We had a hard fight to save that woman and her babies, and were nearly choked with the fumes of the coal oil with which the fire was kindled. I couldn't swear, in court, Danes, that you started the blaze, but your coat and your hands have the odor of coal oil.”
Dane's face turned pale, his legs shaking under him.
“So, you see,” continued Tom savagely, “you'll do well to escape before anyone else notices the smell of coal oil on you.”
“You've been mighty good to me—and I—” chattered Danes.
“Shut up, as I advised you before!” rasped Tom Reade. “I've been as good to you as I'd be to a rattlesnake. Get out of Arizona before the men of this town suspect—understand—you?”
“I will,” Frank Danes agreed, his teeth chattering.
“Don't ever show your face again in this part of the world.”
“I won't, Reade. Again, my thanks—”
“Shut up!” Tom insisted. “Thanks from you would make me feel like a traitor to the community. Skip! Carry word to the Colthwaite Company, however, that their latest scheme against us has failed like the others!”
At mention of the Colthwaits, Danes turned and fled in earnest.