"I was."
"Then you're spyin'. You're a cop."
"You're mistaken."
"Ah, don't had me none like that. You're a State Trooper or a Secret
Service guy, or a plain, dirty cop. And I'm a-going to croak you."
"I'm not in any service, now."
"Wasn't you an army officer?"
"Yes. Can't an officer go wrong?"
"Soft stuff. Don't feed it to me. I told you too much anyway. I was babblin' drunk. I'm drunk now, but I got sense. D'you think I'll run chances of sittin' in State's Prison for the next ten years and leave Eve out here alone? No. I gotta shoot you, Smith. And I'm a-going to do it. G'wan and say what you want … if you think there's some kind o' god you can square before you croak."
"If you go to the chair for murder, what good will it do Eve?" asked
Smith. His lips were crackling dry; he moistened them.
"Sink holes don't talk," said Clinch. "G'wan and square yourself, if you're the church kind."