Dillon took two quick steps away from the other two. His face was hard and threatening. He slightly raised the Tommy. “Put your rod on the ground,” he said to Gurney. “You keep away from the car,” he went on to Myra.
The two stood very still. Myra found her voice. “What’s the big idea?” she said, her voice suppressed.
“I want those rods… maybe you didn’t try to hang it on me in the car, but I ain’t takin’ any chances with you. Snap into it. Drop that gun, Gurney.”
Gurney let the gun fall on the grass. He stepped away from it. His face was a little white. He was scared.
Dillon picked the gun up and shoved it down the waistband of his trousers. He walked over to the Cadillac and took the gun lying on the seat. “Okay,” he said, “I guess that’s all. We’ll run back to the cabin now in the jalopy.”
The two didn’t say anything. Gurney got under the wheel and Myra got in beside him. Dillon climbed in at the back. They drove away, leaving the Cadillac.
When they reached the cabin Dillon went straight to his room and shut himself in. They heard the bar fall in its socket, bolting him in.
Myra stood very still, looking at Gurney. “We ain’t gettin’ anywhere with this guy,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He’s gotta lot comin’ to him.”
Gurney slouched over to the bench and sat down. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, looking hard at his feet. Myra stared at him for a moment, then she began getting a meal together.
They didn’t see Dillon until supper was on the table. He came out of his room, a cold, triumphant look on his face. He was conscious of the hard glances from the other two. Sitting down at the table, he began to shovel the food into his mouth. The other two just sat and watched him. After a moment he looked up irritably. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demanded fiercely. “Ain’t you hungry?”