"For the last time," said Lee, and his low voice was ominous, "I tell you what to do. If you don't do it, I'll kill you just the same. You've got your chance. Count ten seconds, Sandy."
"One," said Sandy, watching the clock on the wall, "two, three, four, five, six, seven——"
"Curse you!" cried Quinnion then, a look of fear at last in his eyes. "I'll get you for this some day, Bud Lee. Now you've got me——"
"Keep on counting, Sandy," commanded Lee.
"Eight," said Sandy, "nine——"
"I lied!" snapped Quinnion. "An' I'm leavin' town for a while."
And lurching as he walked, he made his way out of the room, his eyes on the floor, his face a burning red.
"Carson and I are riding back to the ranch as soon as our horses rest up and get some grain," said Lee, his fingers slowly rolling a brown cigarette. "We'll mosey out now, see Quinnion on his way and drop back to make up a little game of draw for a couple of hours. Strike you about right, Billy? And you, Watson? And you, Parker?"
They listened to him, took the cue from him, and allowed what lay between him and Chris Quinnion to lie in silence. But there was not a man there but in his own fashion was saying to himself:
"It's a good beginning. But where's the end going to be?"