with me—by God, he shook hands with me when he left.”
He straightened a little.
“So help me God, Lee, I've never done a crooked thing more since I shook hands with Dan that day.” He sat silent, but breathing hard. “Well, this is the end of Whistlin' Dan. The law will never let up on him now; but I tell you, Haines, I'm sick inside and I'd give my right hand plumb to the wrist to set him straight and bring him back to Kate. Go in and tell her, Lee. I—I'll wait for you here.”
“You'll be damned,” cried Haines. “I've done my share by bringing the word this far. You can relay it.”
Buck Daniels produced a silver dollar.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads!” said Haines.
The dollar spun upwards, winking, and clanked on the rocks, tails up. Haines stared at it with a grisly face.
“Good God,” he muttered, “what'll I do, Buck, if she faints?”
“Faints?” echoed Daniels, “there's no fear of that! The first thing you'll have to do is to saddle her horse.”
“Now, what in hell are you driving at?”
“She'll be thinkin' of Joan. God knows she worried enough because Dan hasn't brought the kid back before this, but when she hears what he's done now, she'll know that he's wild for keeps and she'll be on the trail to bring the young'un home.”
