"All right, have it your own way."
"I want their names."
"Then keep on wanting them," Turkey returned. "If you think I know what you mean, keep on thinking it. Keep on having your own way, same as you've always had. Same as you had when you got me to quit the ranch. Now you can go plumb, understand?"
"Before I leave here," Angus said, "you will tell me what I want to know, or—"
"Or what?" Turkey demanded.
"Or you will lie in that bunk for a week and be glad to do it," Angus finished grimly. His young brother's eyes closed down to mere slits.
"Get one thing straight," he said. "I'll take no more from you now than I would from a stranger. Remember what I told you about keeping your hands off me. I mean it!"
"And so do I," said Angus rising. "No more nonsense, Turkey. Will you answer my question?"
Turkey was on his feet instantly. He took a step backward. "No," he said; "I won't tell you one damned thing. Keep away from me, Angus. Keep away, or by—"
Unheeding the warning, Angus sprang forward. Turkey dodged, leaped back, and his hand shot for the gun hanging by his bunk. It came out of its holster. Angus swung his arm against it, and it roared in his ear. He grasped it as the hammer fell a second time, and the firing pin pierced the web of his hand between thumb and finger. He ripped the weapon from Turkey's weaker hands and threw it away. Then he lost control of himself and let his anger have full sway.