"A holdup is right," said Foss. "A holdup, an' a little business matter you and me's got to attend to."
"Well, let's get at it!" Oliver snapped.
"I'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," Foss told him in a matter-of-fact tone.
A cold chill ran along Oliver's spine. Should he make a dive for his gun? Foss had every advantage, but—
Foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his six-shooter ready.
"Down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you buttin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." Foss had come to a stop, and was leering up at him. "You've made trouble ever since you come here. Old Man won't get rid o' you, but I'm goin' to today. But first, where's them gems?"
"I can't tell you," said Oliver.
"You're a liar!"
"Thank you. You have the advantage of me, you know. Slip your gun in the holster, and then call me a liar. I'll draw with you. My hands are up—you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your gun butt."
"D'ye think you could draw with me?"