“I’ve got some frankness of my own, Latisan. I’m at a point where my future with the Comas is in the balance, and I’m going to fight for that future. I’m not asking you to lie down. But you have it in your power—the circumstances being as they are—to swing the Flagg interests in with ours to mutual advantage. Why isn’t that better than a fight?”
“It would be better!”
Craig brightened.
But Latisan added: “For your interests! You’re afraid of a fight—at Skulltree!”
“Yes, I am,” blurted Craig, trying candor. “Let’s arrange a hitch-up!”
“Now the trouble with that plan is this,” returned Latisan, quietly, slowly. “It can’t be done, not with a man like you’ve shown yourself to be. Hold in your temper, Mr. Craig! You’re coming round now to ask square men to deal with you. You can’t appeal on the ground of friendship—you haven’t tried to make any friends up here. You have played too many tricks. We’re all doubtful in regard to your good faith, no matter what the proposition may be. We can’t deal with you. It’s all your own doing. You are paying the penalty.”
“Much obliged for the sermon!”
“I could say a lot more, but it wouldn’t amount to anything in your case.”
“Then it has settled into a personal fight between you and me, has it?”
“Bluntly speaking, yes!”