“We’re men enough, Wolf.”
“Yes. It’s how I thought. I guess I’d go right out an’ blow my fool brains to pieces if I thought I was just a bootlegger.”
A shadowy smile hovered in the policeman’s eyes.
“And if I was just a red-coat I’d be scared to go meet my old mother when I’m through.”
A queer brooding settled in the Wolf’s eyes. He sat gazing into space for some moments, while his cigarette burned on unheeded. Suddenly he seemed to make up his mind.
“How’d you reckon if you’d been watching around an’ saw a gal standin’ over a dead Sinclair with the gun that shot him dead in her hand?” the Wolf asked abruptly.
Fyles uncrossed his legs. He removed the pipe from between his teeth.
“Why, that she was looking down at the work she guessed she had a right to figger you’d done.”
“God!”
The Wolf was sitting up. Every fibre in his big body was strung tense. His eyes were wide with the wonder in his mind.