“Choke off that critter!” growled the man, addressing Frank. “If yer don’t, I’ll shoot him full of holes!”
“I wouldn’t advise you to do that,” came calmly from Merriwell. “You might get into serious trouble if you did.”
“Trouble?—trouble over shootin’ a nigger?” snorted the stranger. “Wa-al, I think not! I’ve got the record of killin’ a dozen white men, and——”
“Thirteen is an unlucky number you know. Without doubt you will be hanged, as you deserve, when you kill the thirteenth one.”
“Mebbe so, but a nigger won’t count. I’ll bore him if he opens his trap again!”
“Land ob mercy!” gurgled Toots, dodging behind a tree. “Dat man am crazzy fo’ suah! Look out fo’ him, chilluns; dar am no tellin’ when he’ll tek a noshun inter his fool haid teh shoot you all.”
“You must be a very bad man,” said Merriwell, sarcastically.
“I am; and now yer realize it, mebbe you’ll have a little more respect. Who be yer? an’ what’re yer doing here?”
“If you will show that you have any right to ask those questions, I will answer them.”
“Right! Why, hang it! I’m ther sheriff of this county!”