Reilly. We have arranged a temporary treaty of peace," the
chief outlaw said.
Reilly, a huge lout of a fellow with a lowering countenance,
ventured to expostulate. "Ye want to be careful of him. He's
quicker'n chain lightning."
His chief exploded with low-voiced fury. "When I ask your advice,
give it, you fat-brained son of a brand blotter. Until then
padlock that mouth of yours. Vamos."
Reilly vanished, his face a picture of impotent malice, and Leroy
continued:
"We're going to the Rocking Chair in the morning, Mr. Collins--at
least, you and Miss Mackenzie are going there. I'm going part
way. We've arranged a little deal all by our lones, subject to
your approval. You get away without that hole in your head. Miss
Mackenzie goes with you, and I get in return the papers you took
off Scott and Webster."
"You mean I am to give up the hunt?" asked Collins.
"Not at all. I'll be glad to death to see you blundering in again
when Miss Mackenzie isn't here to beg you off. The point is that
in exchange for your freedom and Miss Mackenzie's I get those
papers you left in a safety-deposit vault in Epitaph.
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