“Wait a minute,” said Marsh. “They won’t be there now.”
He turned to Hashknife, squinting at the serious-faced cowboy, as if seeking to read his thoughts. Then,
“Hartley, yo’re on the square about this?”
Hashknife’s eyes narrowed, but his lips twisted slightly in a smile, as he said:
“Hartwell, I’m tellin’ you my opinion. I might be wrong, but I’m not lyin’.”
“Where do you come in on the deal?” asked Cliff Vane.
Hashknife looked at Vane, a look of contempt that he made no effort to conceal, as he said:
“Pardner, you’ve lived here so long, seein’ the same things, thinkin’ the same thoughts, that you’ve become so —— narrow that yore squinty little brain can’t conceive of anybody doin’ humanity a good turn, unless there’s somethin’ in it, some chance to feather yore own nest.”
Vane blinked angrily. Honey Wier guffawed loudly and slapped Chet so hard on the shoulder that the foreman of the Arrow almost fell down.
“What do yuh mean by them remarks?” demanded Vane.