All his self-control was gone now, his face livid, an angry
look in his eyes. That any man with State's prison yawning before him
could make such a fool of himself seemed to astound him.
Bud turned slowly and, pointing his finger at Halliday, said between
his closed teeth:
"Ask Hank Halliday; he knows."
The buzzard sprang to his feet. There was the scent of carrion in the
air now; I saw it in his eyes.
"We don't want to ask Mr. Halliday; we want to ask you. Mr. Halliday is
not on trial, and we want the truth if you can tell it."
The irregularity of the proceeding was unnoticed in the tense
excitement.
Bud looked at him as a big mastiff looks at a snarling cur with a look
more of pity than contempt. Then he said slowly, accentuating each word:
"Keep yer shirt on. You'll git the truth--git the whole of it. Git what
you ain't lookin' for. There ain't no liars up in our mountains 'cept
them skunks in Gov'ment pay you fellers send up to us, and things like
Hank Halliday. He's wuss nor any skunk.
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