Quintana's dark, tense face was expressionless when Leverett ventured to look at him. Like most liars he realised the advisability of looking his victim straight in the eyes. This he managed to accomplish, sustaining the cold intensity of Quintana's gaze as long as he deemed it necessary. Then he started toward his rifle. Quintana blocked his way.
"Where my packet?"
"Gol ram it! Ain't I told you? Jake had it in his pocket."
"My packet?"
"Yaas, yourn."
"My packet, it is down in thee sink 'ole?"
"You think I'm lyin'?" blustered Leverett, trying to move around Quintana's extended arm. The arm swerved and clutched him by the collar of his flannel shirt.
"Wait, my frien'," said Quintana in a soft voice. "You shall explain to me some things before you go."
"Explain what! — you gol dinged——"
Quintana shook him into speechlessness.