The guard stepped close to Harror and pocketed his weapon.
"He was shouting his head off," he said. Then, in an almost apologetic voice he added, "The Irishman insisted on coming along."
Blake's eyes were on Harror's face. The giant's fists were clenched, his lips tight and cruel. He was searching for something.
"All right," Harror growled finally. "What's the game?"
"Nothing," Blake answered shrewdly. "We were waiting for you to murder us, and got impatient, that's all."
Two of the guards left and Harror swung to his feet. He was leering.
Blake watched the remaining guards from the corner of his eye. O'Toole was still standing quietly by the door, alert and ready. He saw Blake's eye on his, and winked deliberately. O'Toole, Blake decided, was ready any time.
"You were right on the murder angle," Harror admitted. "Pretty smart, ain't you?"
"About some things," Blake admitted. "I don't fall for everything I read in the papers. I know you used a hidden mono track to get us here, and that you'll probably send us back over it into a nice deep canyon, when you have everything you want off the train."