Annette raised her eyes to the glassy watchfulness of his.
“It sure means penitentiary?” she cried suddenly. “How long?”
“Five years at most, I’d say.”
“Five?”
“Yes.”
Sinclair saw the struggle going on behind the girl’s eyes. He had everything to gain by patient persuasion. So he held strong check upon himself.
“I don’t guess your father’ll get more than a year. It’s the Wolf,” he said, watching the effect of his words. “He’s the feller with the still. He’s the real boss. That’s his way. He runs the still. He’s got your father where he needs him. And treats him to the same bull-dozing he does you. He’s a swine of a bully. He’s made your life tough as well. Five years in penitentiary’ll hand him an elegant lesson not to bet on a ‘full house’ when he’s barely ace high. He’s got a hell of a stiff neck. But five years of penitentiary’ll change all that.”
A bitter laugh answered him.
“Yes, yes,” Annette cried eagerly. “That’s it. It’ll smash his fool conceit. It——”
She broke off with a sharp intake of breath.