Not caring to invite their hostility, he gave his name as Gordon instead
of Elliot. He was to learn within the hour that this was mistake number
two.
From a pocket of the coat he had thrown on a bed protruded the newspaper
Gordon had brought from Kusiak. One of the men, a big red-headed fellow,
pulled it out and began sulkily to read.
While he read the other two bickered and drank and snarled at each
other. All three of the men were in that stage of drunkenness when a
quarrel is likely to flare up at a moment's notice.
"Listen here," demanded the man with the newspaper. "Tell you what,
boys, I'm going to wring the neck of that pussyfooting spy Elliot if
I ever get a chanct."
He read aloud the editorial in the "Sun." After he had finished, the
others joined him in a chorus of curses.
"I always did hate a spy--and this one's a murderer too. Why don't some
one fill his hide with lead?" one of the men wanted to know.
Redhead was sitting at the table. He thumped a heavy fist down so hard
that the tin cups jumped. "Gimme a crack at him and I'll show you, by
God."
A shadow fell across the room. In the doorway stood a newcomer. Gordon
had a sensation as if a lump of ice had been drawn down his spine.
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