His eyes glistened. "I'll not wear mournin' none if it does just that."
"I'm tellin' you what it'll do," Doble insisted dogmatically.
"Shorty with you?"
"He was, an' he wasn't. I did it while he wasn't lookin'. He was saddlin' his horse in the brush. Don't make any breaks to him. Shorty's got a soft spot in him. Game enough, but with queer notions. Some time I'm liable to have to—" Doble left his sentence suspended in air, but Steelman, looking into his bleak eyes, knew what the man meant.
"What's wrong with him now, Dug?"
"Well, he's been wrong ever since I had to bump off Tim Harrigan. Talks about a fair break. As if I had a chance to let the old man get to a gun. No, I'm not so awful sure of Shorty."
"Better watch him. If you see him make any false moves—"
Doble watched him with a taunting, scornful eye.
"What'll I do?"
The other man's gaze fell. "Why, you got to protect yoreself, Dug, ain't you?"