“It’ll mean two trips else,” he said. “The folks down ther’ are shoutin’ fer it. Their dollars are good. You got to make the trade this time—alone.”
“Alone? What’s the play?”
“Ther’s no play.” The Wolf shook his head.
Pideau licked his lips. The other’s cool manner of authority maddened him.
“Quick, ain’t you?” he growled. “Why not you, too, same as we always fix it? Five hundred ain’t a one-man play. Are you startin’—another five hundred?”
“No, I’m not.”
The Wolf turned. With a fierce gesture he flung his cigarette away and trod it underfoot. Then he came to the counter, and Pideau saw the transformation. The eyes he was looking into were the eyes that had once faced him over the sights of a rifle.
“You’ll run those cargoes,” the Wolf said, but without any change of tone. “I stop right here in town.”
“Why?”
Pideau leaned over the counter, his folded arms supporting him. The Wolf’s control came back to him and he sought his tobacco.