“Well, that’s settled then. Say!”
“Well?”
“Why didn’t you kill that Bradford—the low-lived skunk—when you had a chance? ’Twould ’ave saved us no end o’ trouble, p’r’aps. Maybe he’s on our trail this minute, with a band o’ murderin’ red devils at his back.”
“It’s probable.”
“Well, why didn’t you kill him?”
“I had reasons for not doing so.”
“What was they?”
“I don’t care to say.”
“Huh! You’re gittin’ closer ’n a clam,” Joe muttered irritably.
Then he continued: