Out of its sardonic,
devil-may-care face gleamed malevolent eyes which rested for a
moment on Dailey, before they came home to the sheriff.
"And what is it Leroy would never do?" a gibing voice demanded
silkily.
Scott pulled himself together and tried to bluff, but at the look
on his chief's face the words died in his throat.
Collins did not lift a finger or move an eyelash, but with the
first word a wary alertness ran through him and starched his
figure to rigidity. He gathered himself together for what might
come.
"Well, I am waiting. What it is Leroy would never do?" The voice
carried a scoff with it, the implication that his very presence
had stricken conspirators dumb.
Collins offered the explanation.
"Mr. Dailey was beginning a testimonial of your virtues just as
you right happily arrived in time to hear it. Perhaps he will now
proceed."
But Dailey had never a word left. His blunders had been crying
ones, and his chief's menacing look had warned him what to
expect. The courage oozed out of his heart, for he counted
himself already a dead man.
"And who are you, my friend, that make so free with Wolf Leroy's
name?" It was odd how every word of the drawling sentence
contrived to carry a taunt and a threat with it, strange what a
deadly menace the glittering eyes shot forth.
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