Justin entered in time to catch this. The long hair at the sides of his face shook solemnly. 'I tell you; nitchies fight. See, boy?'
McAuliffe was wiping his massive forehead with an oily rag the half-breed had recently employed for gun-cleaning purposes. 'Mix me a glass, Justin—a stiff one to straighten my nerves out. Goldam! this corks me.'
Winton blinked his eyes like an owl in the sunlight. 'He's dead. Plugged by those devilish nitchies! Then he briefly told his tale.
'You didn't see him corpsed?' cried the Factor, eagerly.
'Next thing. The shot, groan, the fall—all the rest.'
'This fairly sets me on the itch,' said the Factor, pacing up and down. 'Poor old Billy. Goldam! I'd like to get my axe alongside the skull of the skunk who did the lead-pumping business. I'd set his body to pickle, I tell you.'
'Vengeance will fall upon the wicked man who striketh his neighbour secretly,' came in a weak voice from the corner. 'Let us watch and pray.' Denton became himself again when he understood that Winton was unpursued.
'Never mind him,' said McAuliffe, generally. 'He's only a crazy kind of fool, anyhow. He don't know what he's talking about.'
Again Justin's dark hand shot upward, and the warning whistle sounded. He set his head forward, then remarked, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, 'Boy coming.'
Denton's heels recommenced their tattoo, while the others caught up their guns. The moon was rising now, and some silvery rays slanted through the window. Suddenly a heavy knock fell upon the door.