I’m here to collect because . . .
SOMEBODY OWES ME!
“Judas, Marley, how the hell am I going to convince you you’ve made a mistake?”
Marley shrugged. “You ain’t.”
Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “No. I see that now. Even if I’d had some identification, you wouldn’t have believed it, would you? You don’t want to believe me. You know I’m not Danton, but it makes you look better if you’ve captured two of the outlaw bunch and not just one!”
Marley’s face was serious now, his eyes hard. He glanced back down the passage toward the street door. “You could be closer to the truth than you know, mister. But the fact is, you got no identification, you were ridin’ with a known outlaw and your description fits near enough to Danton’s on this here dodger. The only one I have to convince that you’re Danton is me — and I’m convinced, pard! Who do you figure the judge is gonna believe? Me or you . . .?”
“You son of a bitch,” Tracy said in a low voice and somehow the words seemed all the more impressive because of his quiet tone. His gray-green eyes were icy. “You better make sure they hang me, Marley, because if they just give me a jail sentence, I’ll be getting out some day — and I’ll come for you. Then they will have something to hang me for . . .”