2

The brakie heard this recital with the keenest interest, nodding from time to time.

“What beats me, Lefty,” he said at the end of the story, “is why you didn’t knife into the fight yourself and take a hand with Donnegan”

At this Lefty was silent.  It was rather the silence of one which cannot tell whether or not it is worth while to speak than it was the silence of one who needs time for thought.

“I’ll tell you why, bo.  It’s because when I take a trail like that it only has one end I’m going to bump off the other bird or he’s going to bump off me”

The brakie cleared his throat

“Look here,” he said, “looks to me like a queer thing that you’re on this train”

“Does it” queried Lefty softly “Why?”

“Because Donnegan is two cars back, asleep.”

“The devil you say!”

The brakie broke into laughter

“Don’t kid yourself along,” he warned.  “Don’t do it.  It ain’t wise—­with me.”

“What you mean?”

“Come on, Lefty.  Come clean.  You better do a fade off this train.”

“Why, you fool—­”

“It don’t work, Joe.  Why, the minute I seen you I knew why you was here.  I knew you meant to croak Donnegan.”

“Me croak him?  Why should I croak him?”

“Because you been trailing him two thousand miles.  Because you ain’t got the nerve to meet him face to face and you got to sneak in and take a crack at him while he’s lying asleep.  That’s you, Lefty Joe!”

He saw Lefty sway toward him; but, all stories aside, it is a very bold tramp that cares for argument of a serious nature with a brakie.  And even Lefty Joe was deterred from violent action.  In the darkness his upper lip twitched, but he carefully smoothed his voice.

“You don’t know nothing, pal,” he declared.

“Don’t I?”

“Nothing,” repeated Lefty.

He reached into his clothes and produced something which rustled in the rush of wind.  He fumbled, and finally passed a scrap of the paper into the hand of the brakie.

“My heavens,” drawled the latter.  “D’you think you can fix me with a buck for a job like this?  You can’t bribe me to stand around while you bump off Donnegan.  Can’t be done, Lefty!”

“One buck, did you say?”

Lefty Joe expertly lighted a match in spite of the roaring wind, and by this wild light the brakie read the denomination of the bill with a gasp.  He rolled up his face and was in time to catch the sneer on the face of Lefty before a gust snatched away the light of the match.

They had topped the highest point in Jericho Pass and now the long train dropped into the down grade with terrific speed.  The wind became a hurricane.  But to the brakie all this was no more than a calm night.  His thoughts were raging in him, and if he looked back far enough he remembered the dollar which Donnegan had given him; and how he had promised Donnegan to give the warning before anything went wrong.  He thought of this, but rustling against the palm of his right hand was the bill whose denomination he had read, and that figure ate into his memory, ate into his brain.