“Ye're not!”
“Hicksy!” cried Shays feebly. “Tom, don't ye do it!”
Coglan plunged around the table and grasped at Allen's throat, at Allen's hand, which had shot behind his head, gripping the heavy chisel. Allen dodged him, and struck, and jumped after as Coglan staggered, and struck again. The corner of the chisel seemed to sink into Coglan's head.
Allen stood and clicked his teeth over his fallen enemy, who sighed like a heavy sleeper, and was still. It was a moment of tumult, and then all still in the shop. Then Shays stumbled backward over the work bench, and dropped on the hides. Allen turned and looked at him, putting the chisel into one of the side pockets of his coat, where it hung half-way out. The light was growing clearer in the windows.
“That's the end of me,” he said.
And Shays cried angrily, “Wha's that for?” and cowered with fear and dislike in his red-lidded eyes. “Keep off me! You keep off me!”
“I got to the end, Jimmy. Goodbye.”
“Keep off me!”
Allen hung his head and went out of the shop into the dark hall.
Shays heard his steps go down the outside stairway. He scrambled up from the pile of hides, and snatched his hat. He kept close to the wall, as far as possible from where Coglan lay against the legs of the table. He was afraid. He vaguely wanted to get even with the man who had killed Coglan. He had loved Coglan, on the whole, best among living men.