Andrew like an amen. He glanced from face to face, and each stern eye met his in gloomy sympathy.
Then something shot through him which was to his mind what red is to the eye; it was a searing touch of reckless indifference, defiance.
"Forget this prayer-meeting talk," said Andrew. "I came up here for action, not mourning. I want something to do with my hands, not something to think about with my head!"
Something to think about! It was like a terror behind him. If he should have long quiet it would steal on him and look at him over his shoulder like a face. A little of this showed in his face; enough to make the circle flash significant glances at one another.
"You got something behind you, Andy," said Scottie. "Come out with it. It ain't too bad for us to hear."
"There's something behind me," said Andrew. "It's the one really decent part of my life. And I don't want to think about it. Allister, they say you never let the grass grow under you. What's on your hands now?"
"Somebody has been flattering me," said the leader quietly, and all the time he kept studying the face of Andrew. "We have a little game ahead, if you want to come in on it. We're shorthanded, but I'd try it with you. That makes us six all told. Six enough, boys?"
"Count me half of one," said Larry la Roche. "I don't feel lucky about this little party."
"We'll count you two times two," replied the leader calmly, and he began to outline his plans to Andrew.
It developed, before he had been talking for five minutes, that the plans were as extraordinary as the man himself. He treated crime as any progressive business man treats his business. He looked upon himself and his small band as a great capital investment, on which
