``That's the stuff,'' Curt said. ``Just hold it that way.'' He reached out to pull the door shut and fasten it with a sliding bolt. ``You and I have a little talking to do, Jess. You wonn't be needing this.'' He moved up and lifted Jess's pistol out of its holster.

``Damn you, Adams'' -- Jess was beginning to recover from his initial shock. ``We ain't got nothing to talk about. If I don't come back in the house, Breed's going to'' --

``Your trigger-happy brother isn't in the house. About now he's probably having supper. That long ride the four of you took must've given him a good appetite. Now turn around so I can see your face.''

Jess turned. There was raw fury in his eyes, and the veins of his neck were swollen.

``You're about as dumb as they come, Adams. I don't know what you're up to, but when Brenner'' --

``You can forget about Brenner, too,'' Curt said. ``It's Ben Arbuckle we're going to talk about.''

``Arbuckle?'' Jess stiffened. ``I don't know nothin' about him.''

``No? I suppose you don't know anything about a piece of two-by-four, either; one with blood all over it, Arbuckle's blood.'' Curt's fingers put a little more pressure on the trigger of his gun. ``So help me, Crouch, I'd like to kill you where you stand, but, before I do, I'm going to hear you admit killing him. Now start talking. Who told you to do it? Was it Dutch Brenner?''

Curt was holding Jess's gun in his left hand. He drew back his arm to slash the gunbarrel across Jess's face, but didn't finish the motion. Pistol whipping an unarmed man might come easy to someone like Jess, but Curt couldn't bring himself to do it.