The bulbous eyes of the other narrowed. He distrusted on principle all kid gloves. Those he had met were mostly ambitious reformers. Furthermore, any stranger who mentioned the name of the Arizonan became instantly an object of suspicion.
"What about him?"
"I understand that you and he are not on friendly terms. I've gathered that from what's been told me. Am I correct?"
Durand thrust out his salient chin. "Say! Who the hell are you?
What's eatin' you? Whatta you want?"
"I'd rather not tell my name."
"Nothin' doin'. No name, no business. That goes."
"Very well. My name is Bromfield. This fellow Lindsay—gets in my way. I want to—to eliminate him."
"Are you askin' me to croak him?"
"Good God, no! I don't want him hurt—physically," cried Bromfield, alarmed.
"Whatta you want, then?" The tight-lipped mouth and the harsh voice called for a showdown.