"Gimme a match, Sam." Sandy's voice came to Plimsoll across a gulf that could never be bridged. He watched the flame, pale in the sunshine, watched it lift to the cigarette and then a puff of smoke came into his face as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murder stirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather than read on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But the moment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and had turned his back on him.
His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormon gave Sandy back his second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. He exhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again to Plimsoll.
"Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've a mind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of a hand."
Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with him hesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections with the J. P. brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked back toward the tunnel.
"I saw the carkiss of a steer one time," said Sam, "that had been lyin' on a sidehill fo' quite a spell. The coyotes an' the buzzards had been at it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn't much mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But that carkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs."
"He ain't through," said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him till sun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, but he's got brains an' he'll addle 'em figgerin' out some way to git even."
"I w'udn't wonder," answered Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' to do a li'l' figgerin' too."
"We got to stay on the claims," said Sam. "If they happened to think of it they might heave a stick of dynamite in our midst afteh it's good an' dahk. A flyin' chunk of dynamite is a nasty thing to dodge, at that."
He spoke as dispassionately as if he had been discussing a display of harmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone.
"I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's been happenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don't believe the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surprise me if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. I w'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuff of his. Hope he does."