what lie have you got ready about where you’re going?”
“That,” said Macleish, “is my business.”
“He’s rude, Mr. Brannegan,” complained the gray-headed man.
Brannegan hit Macleish on the same place with his ring. It seemed to grow dark in there for a time, or perhaps it was only that the lamp and the room and all the men moved far off for a moment. Then he straightened up and shook his head, and it all came back again, and Brannegan was rubbing his ring and saying, “Don’t be rude, sonny.”
“Are you going to sign it?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Not quite so hard this time, Mr. Brannegan.” But Macleish guessed Brannegan did not hear the gray-headed man in time.
The next question he was aware of hearing was “Why? Why? Why put yourself through this, Mr. Bronzeau? Why won’t you sign it? Just tell me that.”
“Because I told you,” said Macleish hoarsely. “I ain’t who you think, and this has nothin’ to do with me. Now you whoa!” he roared suddenly at Brannegan, who was cocking his signet hand for another pass; and, surprisingly, Brannegan whoaed. Macleish said, “Whatever that is, it won’t be worth nothing if I sign it. You might’s well sign it yourself. I tell you it’s got nothin’ to do with me.”
“Reasonable, reasonable,” nodded the gray-headed man. “Only we just don’t believe you.” But Macleish noticed he didn’t call him “Mr. Bronzeau” this time.
Brannegan said to the gray-headed man, “He ought to’ve had that there throwin’ knife.”
“A point, a point,” allowed the gray-headed man, who apparently always repeated himself when he was thinking. “What impresses me most is that our Mr. Bronzeau is too intelligent to carry this performance of injured innocence on so long. Ergo, this man is as stupid as he acts. Which would indicate that he is after all not our Mr.Bronzeau.” He pulled his low lip carefully away from his lower teeth. They were too long too. “On the other hand, such stupidity might be covering up a very clever man indeed. Indeed.” Abruptly he turned from his contemplation of Younger Macleish and said briskly, “Mr. Brannegan, we need to know a little more about our young friend.”
Brannegan said to Macleish, “Where at’s your horse?”
Macleish said, “In my hip pocket.”
“Sonny,” said the big man, stroking his ring, “I owe you one for that.”
“Take care of it when you come back,” said the gray-headed man. “I’m sure all he meant was that his horse is at the livery, and would hardly be anywhere else.”
“That’s right,” said Macleish.
Brannegan went to the door. The gray-headed man said, “If by any chance this is not our Mr. Bronzeau, Brannegan, I should like to know it quickly. I tire soon in the presence of stupid people,” and he smiled at Macleish.
“Be right back,” said Brannegan, and went out.
The gray-headed man picked up the little gambler’s gun and checked the load. “You may as well sit down and be comfortable,” he said, waving at a corner chair. “Turn him loose, boys,” he said, mimicking Macleish’s earlier demand, “and stand by the door, and if he makes a play,” he added, smiling his most pleasant smile, “kill him.”
The men let go, and Macleish gave each of them a memorizing kind of look, and went and sat in the corner, folding his arms and massaging his biceps.
It grew very quiet in there. Macleish looked at the three, and the three looked back at him. After a while, the gray-headed man rose and came around to the front of the desk, holding the gun loosely. He stood back against the desk and stared at Macleish.
“Didn’t you win a silver-digging in a crap game and then put it up in a poker deal with a certain gentleman?”
“Not me,” said Younger Macleish.
“And didn’t you lose the pot, and renege, and then cut out here to see if the digging was worth-while after all?”
“Not me,” said Macleish.
“It was worthwhile,” said the gray-headed
“That,” said Macleish, “is my business.”
“He’s rude, Mr. Brannegan,” complained the gray-headed man.
Brannegan hit Macleish on the same place with his ring. It seemed to grow dark in there for a time, or perhaps it was only that the lamp and the room and all the men moved far off for a moment. Then he straightened up and shook his head, and it all came back again, and Brannegan was rubbing his ring and saying, “Don’t be rude, sonny.”
“Are you going to sign it?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Not quite so hard this time, Mr. Brannegan.” But Macleish guessed Brannegan did not hear the gray-headed man in time.
The next question he was aware of hearing was “Why? Why? Why put yourself through this, Mr. Bronzeau? Why won’t you sign it? Just tell me that.”
“Because I told you,” said Macleish hoarsely. “I ain’t who you think, and this has nothin’ to do with me. Now you whoa!” he roared suddenly at Brannegan, who was cocking his signet hand for another pass; and, surprisingly, Brannegan whoaed. Macleish said, “Whatever that is, it won’t be worth nothing if I sign it. You might’s well sign it yourself. I tell you it’s got nothin’ to do with me.”
“Reasonable, reasonable,” nodded the gray-headed man. “Only we just don’t believe you.” But Macleish noticed he didn’t call him “Mr. Bronzeau” this time.
Brannegan said to the gray-headed man, “He ought to’ve had that there throwin’ knife.”
“A point, a point,” allowed the gray-headed man, who apparently always repeated himself when he was thinking. “What impresses me most is that our Mr. Bronzeau is too intelligent to carry this performance of injured innocence on so long. Ergo, this man is as stupid as he acts. Which would indicate that he is after all not our Mr.Bronzeau.” He pulled his low lip carefully away from his lower teeth. They were too long too. “On the other hand, such stupidity might be covering up a very clever man indeed. Indeed.” Abruptly he turned from his contemplation of Younger Macleish and said briskly, “Mr. Brannegan, we need to know a little more about our young friend.”
Brannegan said to Macleish, “Where at’s your horse?”
Macleish said, “In my hip pocket.”
“Sonny,” said the big man, stroking his ring, “I owe you one for that.”
“Take care of it when you come back,” said the gray-headed man. “I’m sure all he meant was that his horse is at the livery, and would hardly be anywhere else.”
“That’s right,” said Macleish.
Brannegan went to the door. The gray-headed man said, “If by any chance this is not our Mr. Bronzeau, Brannegan, I should like to know it quickly. I tire soon in the presence of stupid people,” and he smiled at Macleish.
“Be right back,” said Brannegan, and went out.
The gray-headed man picked up the little gambler’s gun and checked the load. “You may as well sit down and be comfortable,” he said, waving at a corner chair. “Turn him loose, boys,” he said, mimicking Macleish’s earlier demand, “and stand by the door, and if he makes a play,” he added, smiling his most pleasant smile, “kill him.”
The men let go, and Macleish gave each of them a memorizing kind of look, and went and sat in the corner, folding his arms and massaging his biceps.
It grew very quiet in there. Macleish looked at the three, and the three looked back at him. After a while, the gray-headed man rose and came around to the front of the desk, holding the gun loosely. He stood back against the desk and stared at Macleish.
“Didn’t you win a silver-digging in a crap game and then put it up in a poker deal with a certain gentleman?”
“Not me,” said Younger Macleish.
“And didn’t you lose the pot, and renege, and then cut out here to see if the digging was worth-while after all?”
“Not me,” said Macleish.
“It was worthwhile,” said the gray-headed
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