"Don't bother about me. I'll tell you what—I wish you'd get me a drink of water."
"I'll send one of the boys."
"No, get it yourself. I want to say something to them while you're gone."
Andrew had risen up from his knees. He now studied the face of the marshal steadily.
"You want 'em to come in here and drill you, eh?" he said. "Why?"
The other nodded.
"I've given up hope once; I've gone through the hardest part of dying; let them finish the job now."
"Tomorrow you'll feel differently."
"Will I?" asked the marshal. All at once his eyes went yellow with hate. "I go back to the desert—I go to Martindale—people
I pass on the street whisper as I go by. They'll tell over and over how I went down. And a kid did it—a raw kid!"