“What a dweadful cwecher!” gasped Gates, also showing agitation. “Don’t speak to him, Awchie! Cut him dead, deah boy.”
Instantly the man’s hand went into his pocket and came out again, holding a large revolver.
“Don’t try none of yer cuttin’ with me!” he cried. “I kin shoot quicker than you kin cut.”
Whereupon Cholly hastened to explain:
“I didn’t mean to weally cut you with a knife, thir; I thimply meant faw him not to speak to you. We nevah carry knives about us, thir.”
“Waugh!” grunted the man, failing to appreciate the humor of the situation. “It’ll be best fer ye ter say w’at yer mean up har in this country.”
Frank Merriwell had been unable to repress a smile, but he held himself ready to act swiftly, if necessary.
Browning neither laughed nor stirred; he simply yawned and looked disgusted.
The moment the man restored the revolver to his pocket, Archie recovered somewhat from the fear that had silenced his tongue, and he said, with an attempt to be very crushing:
“Go wight away fwom here! I do not want anything to do with such a wude perthon.”