Andrew. For ten years he had been "Andy" to this man; now he was "Lanning." For the first time, probably, he felt the meaning of Bill's death to his brother.
"I'll come back—once—because of a girl."
He saw the eyes of Dozier widen and then contract again. "You're not exactly what I expected to find," he said. "But go on. If I don't take the bargain you pull that trigger?"
"Exactly."
"H'm! You may have heard the voices of the men who came up the hall with me?"
"Yes."
"The moment a report of a gun is heard they'll swarm up to this room and get you."
"They made too much noise. Barking dogs don't bite. Besides, the moment I've dropped you I go out that window."
"You'll break a leg with the drop." "Get up and stand at that window and look down. No, keep both your hands at your sides, if you please. That's better."
Hal Dozier went obediently to the window and looked down to the saddled horse beneath. "You'd jump for that saddle and ride like the wind."
"Right again, Dozier."
"Suppose you missed the saddle?"
Andrew smiled, but his smile gradually went out before a gradual wrinkling around the eyes of the other.
"It's a good bluff, Lanning," said the other. "I'll tell you what, if you were what I expected you to be, a hysterical kid, who had a bit of bad luck and good rolled together, I'd take that offer. But you're different—you're a man. All in all, Lanning, I think you're about as much of a man as I've ever crossed before. No, you
