His hand went round to his hip, and there was a mad, deadly gleam in his eyes. He looked murderous.
Neither of the boys made a move to draw a weapon.
"I wouldn't do it," said Frank, coolly. "I know this section of the country is called 'the wild and woolly West,' but it is not sufficiently wild and woolly to overlook a cold-blooded murder. If you take a fancy to shoot two boys you will be pretty sure to get yourself beautifully hanged."
"Oh, I won't shoot!" growled the man, his hand dropping away from his hip. "But I will——"
"Easy, there!" came sharply from the lips of a police officer. "Somebody is going to get yanked here."
He forced his way through the crowd that had formed a circle about the principal actors on the scene.
"Who is talking about shooting here?" he demanded. "Where is the man who carries concealed weapons?"
"Come away, Paul," whispered the girl, pulling at the man's arm.
"All right," he muttered—"all right, but there are other days. Those young whelps had better keep out of my way."
"Disperse, here!" ordered the officer, commandingly, flourishing his stick. "Be lively about it, too."