Pursuit
Can you name one? I guess not. I have left you as free as the wind here, making only the rule I make for everybody—to let the railroad alone. This is my thanks. Now, I’ll ask you just one question. I haven’t killed you, as I had a perfect right to when you pulled; I haven’t broken your arm, as I would have done if there had been a doctor within twenty-five miles; and I haven’t started you for the pen—not yet. Now I ask you one fair question only: Did you need the money?”
“Yes, I did need it.”
Whispering Smith dropped the man’s wrist. “Then I don’t say a word. If you needed the money, I’m not going to send you back—not for mine.”
“How can a man make a living in this country,” asked the rancher, with a bitter oath, “unless he picks up everything that’s going?”
“Pick up your gun, man! I’m not saying anything, am I?”
“But I’m damned if I can give a double-cross to any man,” added Rockstro, stooping for his revolver.
“I should think less of you, Rockstro, if you did. You don’t need money anyway now, but sometime you may need a friend. I’m going to leave you here. You’ll hear no more of this, and I’m going to ask you a question: Why did you go
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