“Why, you gol-dern skunk!” roared the pitcher. “I’d good mind ter soak ye! You can’t buy me fer two hundred thousan’ dollars!”
Then he loudly cried:
“Gents, this air critter has offered me two hundred dollars to give ther game erway! What do ye think of that?”
“It’s a lie!” instantly declared Dowling. “I——”
Biff! the hard fist of the jay struck Dowling on the eye, and the man went backward.
“Don’t like ter strike a critter like that,” said the strange pitcher; “but it’s agin’ my principles to have him insult me by tryin’ ter buy me and then call me a liar. If he’d jest called me a liar I wouldn’t minded it much, comin’ from such a cheap dog, but ther hull business went agin’ my grain.”
“Look out!” cried several voices, as Dowling rose, hissing an oath. “He’s going to shoot!”
The man’s hand was at his hip, and he snatched out a revolver. Before he could use the weapon, however, the pitcher had his wrist in a grip of iron.
“You’re the blamedest skunk I ever seen!” grimly declared the jay. “It’s goin’ to be a pleasure to kick the liver out of ye!”
Then he gave the man’s wrist a wrench, forcing him to drop the revolver, turned him round, and kicked him hard enough to lift him clear of the ground.