“You took your time,” Anderson said coldly in Spanish.
“Big game,” the Toad replied. “What was your hurry?”
“A big game! Let me tell you, brother mine, that big game may be your last,” Anderson snapped.
Brothers! One was heavy-set, with the swarthy features of a Mexican; the other was blond, well formed, with the features of a Nordic. Yet they were brothers.
“I saw the Wolf to-night,” Anderson said slowly.
“You killed him?” the big man asked eagerly.
Anderson shook his head.
The Toad’s swarthy face flushed, his eyes bulged more prominently than ever, and his features contorted with furious rage.
“You saw the Wolf—the man who killed our father—and he lives?”
Anderson’s soft brown eyes became coldly contemptuous. Here lay the reason for Anderson’s dominance over his brother. He never lost his temper and he possessed a cold, calculating ruthlessness. He never made a move unless he had thought out the consequences in advance. The Toad was given to quick rages in which he acted without thought.