"A hoss is made for work, not foolishness," he used to say.
Here it was, looking out at him from the eyes of his victim. He hated
it, he feared and envied it, and from the very bottom of his heart he
yearned to destroy it before he destroyed Perris.
"You know," he said with sudden savagery, "what's coming?"
"I'm a pretty good guesser," nodded Red Jim. "When a fellow tries to
shoot me in the dark, and then slugs me with a chair and ties me up, I
generally make it out that he figures on murder, Hervey."
He gave just the slightest emphasis to the important word, and yet
something in Hervey grew tense. Murder it was, and of the most
dastardly order, no matter how he tried to excuse it by protesting to
himself his devotion to Oliver Jordan. The lies we tell to our own
souls about ourselves are the most damning ones, as they are also the
easiest. But Hervey found himself so cornered that he dared not think
about his act. He stopped thinking, therefore, and began to shout.
This is logical and human, as every woman knows who has found an irate
husband in the wrong. Hervey began to hate with redoubled intensity
the man he was about to destroy.
"You come here and try to play the cock of the walk," cried the
foreman.
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