"Pull easy, Rob!" adjured some partisan of McClure's. "He's soft in the mouth."
The crowd raised applauding guffaws.
"Naw, it's the blind staggers, pards," cried a smooth voice. "Watch his blinkers."
The immoderate laugh of the crowd had a curiously menacing note.
Pullar's blinkers were not blinking, however. He held McClure's eyes with a level glance.
Thrusting hands to hips akimbo McClure cried insolently:
"S-s-stumped! You quitter!"
Pullar was still silent. His clear eye was taking in the situation. McClure was plainly bent on baiting him and his purpose was beginning to dawn on the Valley boss. A quick survey of the room discovered to him the presence of nine of McClure's men. He could see them moving about into position to cut off all egress from the one door. Not a man of his own gang was in sight and the two or three outsiders were not promising allies. The stench of liquor and the savage flashing of wild eyes warned him of their fell intention. In the swift process of his thought he realized that they were about to pull him down and "jump" him with the unspeakable savagery of drunken fools. He was trapped. With every sense alert he went ahead imperturbably preparing to light up.
Drawing a wad of bills from his pocket McClure thrust them under Pullar's nose.
"Five hundred bucks!" he challenged. "Five hundred little bucks to lay against you two to one that we can lick the Valley Outfit in a thirty day run any old time you want to take it on. No time like the present, Pullar!"