“I know it, Buck. But I'll tell you straight that I could never feel towards Dan as if he were a human being, but a wolf in the hide of a man. He turned my blood cold; he always has.”
Buck Daniels groaned aloud as thoughts poured back on him.
“Of all the pals that ever a man had,” he said sadly, “there never was a partner like Whistlin' Dan. There was never another gent that would go through hell for you jest because you'd eaten meat with him. The first time I met him I tried to double-cross him, because I had my orders from Silent. And Dan played clean with me—by God, he shook hands with me when he left.”
He straightened a little.
“So help me God, Lee, I've never done a crooked thing more since I shook hands with Dan that day.” He sat silent, but breathing hard. “Well, this is the end of Whistlin' Dan. The law will never let up on him now; but I tell you, Haines, I'm sick inside and I'd give my right hand plumb to the wrist to set him straight and bring him back to Kate. Go in and tell her, Lee. I—I'll wait for you here.”
“You'll be damned,” cried Haines. “I've done my share by bringing the word this far. You can relay it.”
Buck Daniels produced a silver dollar.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads!” said Haines.
The dollar spun upwards, winking, and clanked on the rocks, tails up. Haines stared at it with a grisly face.