Almost dazed by this mingled accusation and appeal, Rouletta at length responded by a question, “Then why haven’t you done something to clear him?”

Laure drew her flimsy wrap closer; she was shaking wretchedly.  When she spoke her words were spilled from her lips as if by the tremors of her body.  “I could help.  I would, but—­you sha’n’t have him.  Nobody shall!  I’d rather see him dead.  I’d—­No, no!  I don’t know what I’m saying.  I’d sooner die than hurt him.  I’d do my bit, only—­McCaskey’d kill me.  Say.  Will Rock get him, d’you think?  I hear he gets his man every time.  But Joe’s different; he’s not the ordinary kind; he’s got the devil in him.  Frank—­he’s a dog, but Joe’ll fight.  He’ll kill—­at the drop of the hat.  So will Rock, I suppose.  Maybe he’ll kill them both, eh?  Or maybe they’ll kill him and get away.  I don’t care which way it goes—­”

“Don’t talk like that!” Rouletta exclaimed.

“I mean it,” Laure ran on, crazily.  “Yes, Joe’d kill anybody that stood in his way or doublecrossed him.  I guess I know.  Why, he told me so himself!  And Courteau knew it, perfectly well—­the poor fool!—­but look at him now.  He got his, didn’t he?”

Rouletta laid a cold hand upon the shivering, distracted creature before her.  Sternly she said: 

“I believe you know who committed that murder.  You act as if you did.”

“I’m a g-good guesser, but—­I can keep my mouth shut.  I know when I’m well off.  That’s more than the Count knew.”

“And you probably know something about his robbery, too.  I mean that gold-sack—­”

Laure cast off the hand that rested upon her; she looked up quickly.  “If I did, d’you think I’d tell you?  Well, hardly.  But I don’t.  I don’t know anything, except that—­Pierce is a thief.  He stole and gave me the money.  He did that regularly, and that’s more than he’d do for you.  You may as well know the truth.  Cavendish knows it.  You think he’s too good for me, don’t you?  Well, he isn’t.  And you’re no better than I am, either, for that matter.  You’ve got a nerve to put on airs.  God!  How I hate you and your superior ways.”

“Never mind me.  I want to know who killed Count Courteau.”

“All right.  Wait till Rock comes back and ask him.  He thinks he’ll find out, but—­we’ll see.  Joe McCaskey’ll be over the Line and away, thank Heaven!  If anything happens and they should overtake him—­well, he’ll fight.  He’ll never come in alive, never.”  Turning, the speaker stumbled toward the lights of the saloon, and as she went Rouletta heard her mutter again:  “He’ll never come in alive, never.  Thank God for that!”

CHAPTER XXVIII