He examined the wound, effervesced protests and questions, and prepared for business with the bustling air that characterized him.
“Outa the room now—all but Miss Reed and one o’ you men. Lon, you’ll do.”
“I’ll stay,” announced Merrick with decision.
“All right. All right. I want some clean rags, Black. You got plenty of hot water, I see. Clear out, boys.”
“You don’t need a good nurse, Doc?” Prowers asked, not without satiric malice. He was playing with fire, and he knew it. Everybody in the room suspected him of this crime. He felt a perverted enjoyment in their hostility.
Black chose this moment to make his declaration of independence. “I’d light a shuck outa here if I was you, Jake, an’ I wouldn’t come back, seems to me.”
The cold, bleached eyes of the cowman narrowed. “You’re givin’ me that advice as a friend, are you, Don?” he asked.
The range rider’s jaw stopped moving. In his cheek the tobacco quid stuck out. His face, habitually set to the leathery imperturbability of his calling, froze now to an expressionless mask.
“I’m sure givin’ you that advice,” he said evenly.
“I don’t hear so awful good, Don. As a friend, did you say?” The little man cupped an ear with one hand in ironic mockery.