"You —— —— ——!" he roared. "What do you mean by that?"
"Mean?" asked McHale innocently. "Why, I was tellin' you about a show I seen. What's wrong with that?"
"You called me a horse thief!" cried Cross.
"Who? Me?" said McHale. "Why, no, Mr. Cross, you ain't no hoss thief. I know different. If anybody says you are, you just send him right along to me. No, sir; I know you ain't. There's two good reasons against it."
Cross glared at him, his fingers beginning to twitch.
"Let's hear them," he said. "If they ain't good you go out of that door feet first."
"They're plumb good—best you ever heard," McHale affirmed. "Now, listen. Here's how I know you ain't no hoss thief: For one thing, you got too much mouth; and for another you ain't got the nerve!"
Out of the dead silence came Shiller's voice from the door:
"I'll fill the first man that makes a move plumb full of buckshot. If there's any shootin' in here, I'm doin' it myself." He held a pump gun at his shoulder, the muzzle dominating the group. "You, Tom," he continued, "you said you wouldn't make trouble."
"Am I makin' it?" asked McHale.