It was the very strangeness of it that gave it point. Buck Daniels
turned on his heel.
"It's the last kindness I do you, Dan," he said, with his broad back to
them. "But before you die you got to know why I'm killin' you. I'm going
to roll one cigarette and smoke it and while I smoke it I'm goin' to
tell you the concentrated truth about your worthless self and when I'm
done smokin' I'm goin' to turn around and drop you where you stand.
D'ye hear?"
"They's no need of waitin'," answered the soft voice of Barry. "Talkin'
don't mean much."
But Kate Cumberland turned and faced him. He was fairly a-quiver with
eagerness and the hate welled and blazed and flickered in his eyes; his
face was pale--very pale--and it seemed to her that she could make out
in the pallor the print of the fingers of Buck Daniels and that blow
those many days before. And she feared him as she had never feared him
before--yet she blocked his way still with the outspread arms.
They could hear the crinkle of the cigarette paper as Buck rolled his
smoke.
"No," said Buck, his voice suddenly altered to an almost casual
moderation, "talk don't mean nothin' to you. Talk is human, and nothin'
human means nothin' to you. But I got to tell you why you ought to die,
Barry.
"I started out this mornin' hatin' the ground you walked on, but now I
see that they ain't no use to hate you. Is they any use hatin' a
mountain-lion that kills calves? No, you don't hate it, but you get a
gun and trail it and shoot it down.
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