“Ain’t you a little free with your language, Carlisle?” drawled Rathburn.
“You know who he is?” Carlisle cried to Mannix. “He’s The Coyote––an outlaw an’ a killer with a price a mile long on his head–––”
“But I ain’t never sneaked any miners’ pay-rolls, Carlisle,” Rathburn broke in with a sneering inflection in his voice. “What’d you do with Mike Reynolds? He was with you last night, wasn’t he?”
Carlisle’s jaw snapped shut. He swung on Rathburn with eyes darting red. Then his gaze flashed to the cringing Sautee.
“You––you rat–––”
Rathburn stepped before Sautee. “You haven’t any quarrel with him, Carlisle,” he said evenly; “your quarrel, if you’ve got one, is with me. I outguessed you, that’s all. You ain’t plumb clever, Carlisle. You ought to be in a more genteel business. I just naturally figured out the play an’ made Sautee talk, that’s all. I ain’t the only gent Mannix is wanting––there’s three of us here!”
Carlisle’s face was purple and working in spasms of rage. He realized instantly that Rathburn had spoken the truth.
“It was his scheme from the start!” shrilled Sautee from the protection of Rathburn’s broad shoulders.
Then the mine manager, unable to longer stand the strain, collapsed on the ground, groaning.
“Underhanded!” Carlisle shot through his teeth as Mannix stepped back. “An’ I heard The Coyote was a go-getter. By guns, I believe you’re yellow!”