"An' what---- Did you give him the gun?" asked the bartender.

Purdy nodded: "Sure. He' done a good job, too. He was game, all
right, never whimpered nor hung back on the halter. Jest stuck the gun
in his mouth an' pulled the trigger. I was goin' to bury him but I
heard them mares whinner down to the water-hole so I left him fer the
buzzards an' the coyotes.

"About that there chloral. I'll slip over an' git it from Doc. An'
say, I'm doin' the right thing by yeh. I could horn yeh fer a chunk o'
that reward money, but I won't do a friend that way. An' more'n that,"
he paused and leaned closer. "I'll let you in on somethin' worth while
one of these days. That there thousan' that ol' Lazy Y paid Doc hain't
a patchin' to what he's goin' to fork over to me. See?"

Cinnabar Joe nodded, slowly, as he mouthed his dead cigar, and when he
spoke it was more to himself than to Purdy. "I've played a square game
ever since that time back on the edge of the desert. I don't want to
have to do time fer that. It wouldn't be a square deal nohow, I was
only a Kid then an' never got a cent of the money. Then, there's
Jennie over to the hotel. We'd about decided that bartendin' an'
hash-slingin' wasn't gittin' us nowheres an' we was goin' to hitch up
an' turn nesters on a little yak outfit I've bought over on Eagle." He
stopped abruptly and looked the cowpuncher squarely in the eye. "If it
wasn't fer her, by God! I'd tell you jest as I did before, to git to
hell out of here an' do your damnedest. But it would bust her all up
if I had to do time fer a hold-up. You've got me where you want me, I
guess. But I don't want in on no dirty money from old Lazy Y, nor no
one else. You go it alone--it's your kind of a job.