"Mr. Benton knew that," said Herkimer, "but he didn't believe it. He wanted to prove otherwise."
"Egomaniac," said Sutton.
Herkimer stared at him calmly. "I believe that you are right, sir. I've sometimes thought the same myself."
Sutton brought his gaze back to Benton, who was still hunched above the board, the knuckles of one hand thrust hard against his mouth.
The veined face was scrubbed and pink and chubby, and the brooding eyes, thoughtful as they were, still held a fat twinkle of culture and good-fellowship.
"You'll know him now?" asked Herkimer.
Sutton nodded. "Yes, I think I can pick him out. He doesn't look too dangerous."
"He's killed sixteen men," Herkimer said, stiffly. "He plans to lay away his guns when he makes it twenty-five."
He looked straight at Sutton and said, "You're the seventeenth."
Sutton said, meekly, "I'll try to make it easy for him."