“So he figgered to ambush Sinclair—with your gun?”
The Wolf nodded. Fyles poured himself another drink and refilled the pipe that had burned out.
“He was taking a big chance,” Fyles demurred. Then he added: “For a scared man.”
The Wolf shook his head.
“He hadn’t time for his scare. His scare would come—after. I’ve seen it act that way before.”
“I think I get it.”
“He’d kill Sinclair. An’ he’d have me where he figgered it ’ud be good fer me to be.”
“Yes. And then?”
“Why he put it through better than he guessed. Chances played fer him. He got his sleighs set an’ went along to the cache early. When Sinclair got around he got it jest where Pideau fancied that sort of shooting—through his back. An’ he left my gun with him. Then he quit in a hurry an’ went back to his teams. Then Annette got around. An’ after I came along and saw Annette. Then, like a crazy fool, I went along to Pideau, who was waitin’ at the bluff, an’ brought him along over. When he saw, his ugly grin was ready. He jest laffed at me an’ told me the crazy fool I was to leave my gun around after shooting Sinclair. An’ all through I jest hadn’t a suspicion. I thought sure Annette had killed Sinclair, an’ when I learned the thing he’d done to her I jest knew it was so. It was that last that fixed things. Annette! My little kid. I felt glad for a rope to choke the life out of me. I was sick. Sick to death then. That kid was Sinclair’s. Annette, I figgered, wanted just him. Well, there wasn’t a thing to keep me livin’ so—— An’ that way I could fix it, so they couldn’t ever touch her. She’d killed Sinclair, an’ I was glad.”
Fyles kicked in the damper. The stove was getting red hot. He picked up a hot cinder and dropped it into his pipe. For a moment he smoked heavily.