The detective produced a thick moist plug of chewing tobacco, gnawed at the corners.
"Here you are," he said, offering it to the sufferer.
"Don't, don't," said Brennan, waving it aside. "I'd swallow it sure."
John felt his heart thumping against his ribs. Try as he might he could not stop himself from breathing in quick, short little gasps. This detective and his men were so certain about things. How did they know but something might have gone wrong? Perhaps Gibson and "Red Mike" were "shooting it out" along the road somewhere now. He looked again at his watch. It was three minutes to eight. Only seven minutes had passed since they arrived. Incredulous he held the watch to his ear. It was ticking regularly.
Benton pulled himself on his elbows to John's side.
"You may talk o' gin and beer,
When you're quartered safe out 'ere—"
he began.
"That's enough of that," ordered Brennan, and Benton's chant stopped.