to a killin’ machine I ever did see!
“He ain’t human,” breathed a brawny worker, watching powdered rock flow across the amalgam tables in the stamp mill. He gestured with the broad-bladed spatula used to scrape up the mercury. “Holliday don’t need the rest of his gunnies when he’s got that one, seems to me. He knows what we’re thinkin’ and what we’re goin’ to do afore we do it.” The spatula struck the table hard. “How can you beat a man that ain’t human?”