Yet Samson had not come to the stronghold of his enemy for the purpose
of assassination. There had been another object in his mind--an utterly
mad idea, it is true, yet so bold of conception that it held a ghost of
promise. He had meant to go into Jesse Purvy's store and chat
artlessly, like some inquisitive "furriner." He would ask questions
which by their very impertinence might be forgiven on the score of a
stranger's folly. But, most of all, he wanted to drop the casual
information, which he should assume to have heard on the train, that
Samson South was returning, and to mark, on the assassin leader, the
effect of the news. In his new code it was necessary to give at least
the rattler's warning before he struck, and he meant to strike. If he
were recognized, well--he shrugged his shoulders.
But as he stood on the outside, wiping the perspiration from his
forehead, for the ride had been warm, he heard voices within. They were
loud and angry voices. It occurred to him that by remaining where he
was he might gain more information than by hurrying in.
"I've done been your executioner fer twenty years," complained a
voice, which Samson at once recognized as that of Aaron Hollis, the
most trusted of Purvy's personal guards. "I hain't never laid down on
ye yet. Me an' Jim Asberry killed old Henry South. We laid fer his boy,
an' would 'a' got him ef ye'd only said ther word. I went inter Hixon,
an' killed Tam'rack Spicer, with soldiers all round me. There hain't no
other damn fool in these mountings would 'a' took such a long chance es
thet. I'm tired of hit. They're a-goin' ter git me, an' I wants ter
leave, an' you won't come clean with the price of a railroad ticket to
Oklahoma. Now, damn yore stingy soul, I gits that ticket or I gits you!"
"Aaron, ye can't scare me into doin' nothin' I ain't aimin' to do."
The old baron of the vendetta spoke in a cold, stoical voice. "I tell
ye I ain't quite through with ye yet. In due an' proper time I'll see
that ye get yer ticket." Then he added, with conciliating softness:
"We've been friends a long while. Let's talk this thing over before we
fall out."
"Thar hain't nothin' ter talk over," stormed Aaron. "Ye're jest tryin'
ter kill time till the boys gits hyar, and then I reckon ye 'lows ter
have me kilt like yer've had me kill them others. Hit hain't no use.
I've done sent 'em away. When they gits back hyar, either you'll be in
hell, or I'll be on my way outen the mountings."