For answer Pideau’s feet came down from the desk without a sound. He stood up. He passed swiftly to the door, and opened it noiselessly and peered through a narrow aperture. Then he passed out, closing the door gently behind him.
The Wolf remained where he was smoking. But he watched the door through which his partner had passed.
Presently Pideau returned. The Wolf asked no question. He sat eyeing him.
“Tho’t I heard someone movin’ around in the store,” Pideau said quietly when he had closed the door. “But—I’d say I was wrong. Maybe it’s the darn rats chasing the crackers an’ cheese.”
He sat down, and his feet again went up on to the desk. The Wolf watched him bite at his black tobacco plug but offered no comment.
For some moments there was complete silence, and Pideau’s face was heavy with thought. Then his eyes snapped.
“That stuff’s all right,” he growled suddenly. “It’s the usual play, only two teams. But I got to know the other boy. What’s the big thing? You cooled off, ain’t you? You ain’t killin’ Sinclair? Maybe that don’t seem the joy it did? Annette? You aren’t worried fer her any more? She turned you down? Or hev you jest—weakened? You wer’ stoppin’ around to kill Sinclair. It was a swell talk of killin’ you handed me. I was a fool. I figgered you’d the guts. I’d ought to’ve guessed better.”
The Wolf’s easy humor was impervious to the jibe. He laughed.
“Maybe the father would like good to have me do the killin’ that rightly belongs him.”
“It was you talked killin’.”