"What I come for I'm going to have," announced Brodie. "It's mine, anyhow, more than any other man's; I could prove it by law if I gave the snap of a finger for what the law deals out, hit or miss. Was there a King with Gus Ingle's crowd? Or a Honeycutt? No, but there was a Brodie! And I'm his heir, by thunder. It's mine more'n any man's."
King laughed at him.
"Since when have you been studying law, Brodie? Since you got back this last trip, figuring you might have a word with the sheriff?"
"Sheriff? What do you mean, sheriff?"
"I happened to see you and Andy Parker standing together on the cliffs. I saw Andy go overboard. What is more, I had a talk with him before I buried him."
Again Brodie's big mouth dropped open; his little blue eyes rounded, and he put one hand at his throat nervously.
"Andy's a liar; always a liar," he said thickly. But he seemed annoyed.
Then his face cleared, and he too laughed, derision in his tone.
"Anyway, he's dead and can't lie no more, and your word against mine
ain't more'n an even break. So if your nosing sheriff gets gay with me
I'll twist his cursed neck for him."
"Suit yourself. I've told you already I came for a talk with Honeycutt and not with you."
"Then you'll wait until I'm done with him," roared Brodie, all of his first baffled rage sweeping back through his blood. "And now you'll clear out!"
King stooped forward just a little, gathering himself and ready as he saw Brodie crouch for a spring. It was just then that both remembered old Honeycutt. For the old man, tottering in the opening of the rear door, was muttering in a wicked sort of glee: