They sat confronting each other for a moment. The stone dropped from
the numbed fingers of Cartwright, and Sinclair released his wrist.
Their characters were more easily read in the crisis. Cartwright's face
flushed, and a purple vein ran down his forehead between the eyes.
Sinclair turned pale. He seemed, indeed, almost afraid, and apparently
Cartwright took his cue from the pallor.

"I see," he said sneeringly. "You got your guns on. Is that it?"

Sinclair slipped off the cartridge belt.

"Do I look better to you now?"

"A pile better," said Cartwright.

They rose, still confronting each other. It was strange how swiftly
they had plunged into strife.

"I guess you'll be rolling along, Cartwright."

"Nope. I guess I like it tolerable well under this here tree."

"Except that I come here first, partner."

"And maybe you'll be the first to leave."

"I'd have to be persuaded a pile."

"How's this to start you along?"