"There is no choice left me."

"Sure; that's sensible enough; give it to him, Moore."

He broke the chamber, shaking the cartridges out into his palm; then
handed the emptied weapon over to Westcott. His manner was purposely
insulting, but the latter stood with lips firmly set, realising his
position.

"Now, then, go on over thar an' sit down," continued Lacy. "Maybe, if
yer wait long enough, that partner o' yours might blow in. I got some
curiosity myself as to why that girl showed up ter-night under yer
guidance, an' why yer so keen ter fight about her, Jim; but I reckon
we'll clear that up ter-morrow without makin' yer talk."

"You mean to question Miss Donovan?"

"Hell, no; just keep an eye on her. 'Tain't likely she's in Haskell
just fer the climate. Come on, boys, let's liquor. Big Jim Westcott
has his claws cut, and it's Beaton's turn to spend a little."

Westcott sat quietly in the chair as they filed out; then took the pipe
from his pocket and filled it slowly. He realised his defeat, his
helplessness, but his mind was already busy with the future.

Timmons came out from behind the desk a bit solicitous.

"Hurt eny?" he asked. "Didn't wing yer, or nuthin'?"