Dillon looked at him under his eyelids. “Maybe you'd like to know a lot of things... you ain't got to worry about me. I've done this sorta thing before What's it to be?”
Morgan looked at the other three. Butch nodded. “We'll come on in with you,” he said.
Morgan shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I'll pay the money when Sankey's won.”
Dillon showed his teeth. “You'll bet that five hundred bucks on Sankey for me. An' you'll lay the dough when I tell you.”
Morgan thought a moment, then said, “Fair enough.” The four men began to catch some of Dillon's confidence.
“Dig down,” Dillon said, spreading a fin on the table. “I want some working expenses. This is all I got. Dig down.”
Each contributed. Between the five of them they put up a hundred dollars. Dillon put the bills in his pocket. Gurney went out on to the verandah and fetched in the drinks. They all had a shot except Dillon.
Butch said, “How you goin' to handle this?”
Dillon tapped on the table with his fingernails. “I'm goin' to tell Franks to take a dive.”
Butch said, “For God's sake, he'll knock your guts out.”
Dillon shook his head. “He won't.” He pushed back his chair. “I guess that's all.” The others, except Butch, got to their feet. Dillon said, “Suppose you boys blow, I wantta talk to Butch.”
Gurney moved to the verandah. “Maybe we'll get together some other time,” he said.
“Yeah,” Dillon nodded his head; “you might look round tomorrow.”
Butch sat waiting until the others disappeared into the night. Dillon came back from the verandah. He stood looking at Butch thoughtfully. Then he closed the door and came over.
Butch said, “Who taught you to punch like that?”
Dillon shrugged. “Never mind that. I've got things to talk to you about. Anyone else in this dump?”
Hogan shook his head. “My gal's upstairs in bed. That's all.”
“I'm goin' to make some dough out of the town,” Dillon said. “You can come in on the ground floor if you want to.”
Butch stroked his nose. “Suppose you put the cards down an' let me look at 'em,” he said at last.
Dillon lowered his voice. “I carried a gun for Nelson,” he said.
Crouched outside the door, Myra shivered a little.
Butch looked a little uneasy. “He was a hard guy,” he said.
“He was a mug,” Dillon said bitterly. “I've been under cover now some time. The heat's off. Okay, I guess it's time to move into the money again. How's it feel?”
Butch said, “You ain't tellin' me this unless you knew right off I'd agree.”
Dillon nodded his head. “I thought you were a bright guy. Maybe you have lost your peepers, but you still got some brain.”
Butch said again, “You want the house, huh? Near the State line. Me as a cover?”
“You got it.” Dillon relaxed a little. “I ain't working anythin' this side of the border. Just quick raids. Nothin' very big; that'll come later. Then back under cover here. How do you like that?”
Butch brooded. “What's it worth?” he asked at last.
“Twenty-five per cent cut on everything.”
Butch nodded. “Okay.”
Dillon asked abruptly: “This guy Gurney—is he all right?”
Butch nodded. “He'd come in, I guess,” he said. “Gurney's after the big dough. He ain't particular how he makes it.”
“I'll have a word with him later. Now this guy Franks. There's only one way to deal with him. He's gotta have a scare thrown in him, see? He's got to be tipped off that he gets it if he doesn't take a dive. The first thing is to square the Town Marshal How'd you stand with him?”
“He's an old bird Sell his soul for a buck. He can be squared.”
“Then see him an' fix it. I gotta keep out of this. Tip him off to put his money on Sankey an' tell him the fight's rigged. If Franks puts up a squawk for protection, he won't get it, see?”
Butch nodded.
Dillon took out the hundred dollars and counted out fifty of them.” “Give him that to bet with.”
Butch fumbled with the money and put it in his pocket. “I guess you're goin' to fix this fight all right,” he said. “I'm putting everything I've got on this.”
Dillon said, “It's goin' to be okay, you see.”
He moved over to the door. Outside, Myra crept away, not making a sound. She climbed the ladder leading to the loft which served for her bedroom; and safe in the darkness of familiar surroundings she slipped out of her dress before going to the window. Dillon was standing in the road, looking cautiously up and down, then with a quick shuffling step he disappeared into the darkness.
Myra stood by the window some time, thinking, her face, lit by the moonlight, the hot air of the night touching her skin. Even when she got into bed she could not sleep. The clay-like face of Dillon hung before her like the dead face of the moon. His voice still rang in her ears, scorning her. The blow that he had struck her still burnt her body, making her squirm on the sagging mattress. Sleep would not come to her, to blot out mercilessly the pain of her bruised pride. She suddenly began to cry the hot tears running down her face unchecked. Her two fists, clenched, beat on the bed. “I hate you! I hate you!” she sobbed. “You lousy, goddam bastard!”
* * * *
Gurney drove carefully. He had to nurse the car over the rough road. One good pot-hole would sure bust the axle. Dillon sat beside him, his hat over his eyes. Every now and then Gurney shot him a quick look. Dillon had him guessing. He couldn't place him. Something told him that Dillon would get him somewhere, that he would lead him to the money class, but, fascinated by the thought, he still hung back a little, not trusting him.
It was the evening following the meeting of Dillon and Butch. Dillon had picked Gurney up after the store had closed for the night. They were on their way across the border to the hick town where Franks lived. They were going to call on Franks.
Dillon said suddenly: “You gotta tackle this guy; I'll just be around You know what to say. Don't let him start anythin'. Talk tough. He won't take a sock at you. I'll be right with you.”
Gurney brooded, staring at the road, white and dusty in the headlights. “This guy can hit,” he said uneasily. “He'll get mad if I shoot off too much.”
Dillon shifted. “You do what I say,” he said, “I can handle any mad guy.” He pulled a heavy Colt automatic from the inside of his coat, turned it in his hand, so that Gurney could see it, then he put it back.
“For God's sake”—Gurney was startled—“where the hell did you get that?”
Dillon looked at him, peering at him from under his hat. “You ain't scared of a rod?” he asked.
This was too tough for Gurney, but he didn't say so. He licked his lips uneasily and drove on. After a while he said, “You ain't goin' to pop this guy?”
“Sure I'm goin' to, if he gets mad.” Dillon said. “This ain't the first guy I've popped.”
The old car swerved a little. Gurney found his hands trembling. “I guess I ain't standin' for a murder rap,” he said suddenly.
Dillon reached out and turned off the switch. The engine spluttered and went dead. Gurney trod on the brake. “What's the idea?” he asked nervously.
Dillon pushed back his hat and leant towards Gurney, crowding him into the corner of the car. “Listen,” he said, “you're goin' to get this straight. From now on I'm givin' the orders and you're takin' 'em, see? We're gettin' into the dough, an' no one's stoppin' us. If they get in our way it's goin' to be so much grief for 'em—get that? In a little while I'll be running the town. You can get in in the ground floor or you can stay out. You stay out an' one dark night someone's goin' to toss a handful of slugs in your guts; you know too much—get all that? Butch's on, so get wise to yourself.”
