Chapter 42

• In the ruined shack that served as the grim refuge for a desperate posse, the dying remnants of supper lay scattered upon the cold, creaking floor. The outlaws had scarcely begun their meager repast when Jim Case burst in, his face etched with the fatigue of having lost the trail from the Salton place to Bald-eagle Creek no less than half a dozen times that very day. His bitter mood, dark as the encroaching night, was not soothed by the meager fare before him.
• "You been gone long enough," growled Cole Grimwood, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the cavernous gloom. "Sit down, chow up, and tell us what you know."
• Case’s eyes flashed with savage defiance as he spat, "I don't eat with no damned traitors! Stand up and tell us you're a double-crossin' houn', Ricky Daniels!"