ter sitting on his hoss, dead still. Hal Dozier was sittin'
on his hoss, dead still. Five seconds, maybe. Then
they went for their guns together. They was two bangs
like one. But Allister slid out of his saddle and Dozier
stayed in his. I come on here."
The quiet covered them. Joe Clune, with a shudder and another glance over his shoulder, cast a branch on the fire, and the flames leaped.
"Dozier knows you're with us," added Larry la Roche, and he cast a long glance of hatred at Andrew. "He knows you're with us, and he knows our luck left us when you come."
Andrew looked about the circle; not an eye met his.
The talk of Larry la Roche during the days of the ride was showing its effect now. After all, they were only superstitious children, with the destructive power of giants. But the gage had been thrown down to Andrew, and he dared not pick it up.
"Boys," he said, "I'll say this: Are we going to bust up and each man go his way?"
There was no answer.
"If we do, we can split the profits over again. I'll take no money out of a thing that cost Allister's death. There's my sack on the floor of the shack. Divvy it up among you. You fitted me out when I was broke. That'll pay you back. Do we split up?"
"They's no reason why we should—and be run down like rabbits," said Joe Clune, with another of those terrible glances over his shoulder into the night.
The others assented with so many growls.
"All right," said Andrew, "we stick together. And, if we stick together, I run this camp."
"You?" asked Larry la Roche. "Who picked you? Who 'lected you, son? Why, you unlucky"
