"They's two reasons, pardner; one is that I don't want to git stood up
by a somebody wantin' to know where I'm goin' at night with my
war-bag--and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuff
along, for I'm like to need 'em. Then you ain't out of town yet."
"Which is why you're stickin' around."
"If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete. It's sure hell bein' afoot,
ain't it?"
"It sure is. Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow. Why don't you git to
goin'? It ain't like you was quittin' me cold."
"You're a mighty white kid, Pete. And I'm goin' to tell you right now
that you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of the
game. You been goin' round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin'
on whiskey. And I come so clost to gittin' drunk that I ain't sure I
ain't yet. It was liquor first started me ridin' the high trail."
Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete. As the big Texan
rolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled. For the first
time that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a high
tension.
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