If you got friends coming--friends that are
suffering to see you--why, you ain't here when they come. _And you
ain't been here_. If nobody is following your smoke, why, take your
time."
"I'll be takin' my hoss when he gits done feedin'," stated Pete.
The Spider nodded approval. Showdown had troubles of its own.
"Malvey, did you say you were riding south?"
"Uh-huh."
"Kind of funny--but I was headin' south myself," said Pete. "Bein' a
stranger I might git lost alone."
"Which wouldn't scare you none," guffawed, Malvey.
"Which wouldn't scare me none," said Pete.
"But a crowd of friends--riding in sudden--" suggested The Spider.
"I 'd be plumb scared to death," said Pete.
"I got your number," asserted The Spider.
"Then hang her on the rack. But hang her on the right hook."
"One, two, or three?" queried The Spider.
"Make it three," said Pete.
The Spider glanced sharply at Pete, who met his eye with a gaze in
which there was both a challenge and a confession. Yet there was no
boastful pride in the confession. It was as though Pete had stated the
simple fact that he had killed a man in self-defense--perhaps more than
one man--and had earned the hatred of those who had the power to make
him pay with his life, whether he were actually guilty or not.
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