Ominous red streaks appeared on Denton's sallow face. He prepared to cast back a reply.
'Not a word. I tell you, if you talk back at me, it'll go bad for you.' He started up and dragged the wretch to the door. Then he pointed to a dark mound of soil ahead. 'See that? that's where we've just planted young Winton, who was as much a man as you're a hound. They fixed him last night when you were skulking in the bush.'
He pulled off Denton's hat and threw it on the ground. 'You're a murderer, Peter, and darned if I care who hears me say it. If you'd had the spirit of a woman, young Winton wouldn't have been lying out there.'
Then he took Denton by the shirt collar and pulled him outside. Here he turned upon him again. 'See here, now, there isn't room for the two of us in this fort. One's got to get, and I reckon that'll be you.'
Denton's watery eyes grew malevolent. 'You can't turn me out—'
'Quit your row. I don't care where you get, only don't come round here again. Just take your fixings and lift your feet out.'
'I'm in the service of the Company same as you,' cried Denton, showing his teeth. 'You've no right—'
'You talk about that, and I'll put my arms round you. I reckon you'd stand a good show then. You've done an almighty lot to protect the Company's interests. Anyway, I'm Chief Factor here, so out you go.'
Denton set his back to the door, with white, angry face.
'Your time of reckoning will come,' he muttered, falling into his usual fanatical mood.