VICHIP STARED AT THE man with a sort of sick distaste in his mouth. He did not like Blacky Jordan. The outlaw was coarse, brutal, bestial. But it had to be said to Jordan’s credit that his villainy was at least open and aboveboard; not such treacherous, skulking infamy as this.
Chip said contemptuously, “Aren’t you taking an awful chance, Phipps? Suppose I were to tell Jordan about this proposition of yours?”
Phipps’ leer was the more vicious because it marred only the visible half of his face.
“I ain’t taking no chance, Warren. ‘Cause if you’re agreeable, I’ll set the wheels moving. I’ve got my followers, too. There won’t be no Blacky Jordan to worry about. If you ain’t agreeable, well—” He patted the Moeller holster at his side with a sinister sort of affection—“I can always tell Blac
