"Yes, sir," said the confident Bill, "because why? It stands for sense I didn't come all the way from God's country to do cross talk—don't it?"
The Duke nodded and ostentatiously examined his empty hands.
"Say," said Bill, "them's nice pretty hands of your'n, Jukey, you just keep 'em right there where we—all can admire 'em—see? I've gotten a few words to say to you'se, an' there's plenty of time to say 'em."
Alicia saw the snaky glitter in the man's cruel eyes, and took an involuntary step forward. Slewer did not look at her, but his left hand shot out and arrested her progress.
"You'se ain't in this, Cissy," he said gruffly, "it's me and Jukey." He pushed her backward with such force that she nearly fell. When she looked at the Duke again his face was grey and old-looking, but he made no comment.
"I guess I've not been thinkin' of this particular occasion for some years, no, sir!" said Bill carefully, "not been sitting in me stripes, thinkin' out what I'd say to Mr. Jukey when me an' him hit the same lot."
The man on the wall chuckled, but his face was still pale. Bill observed this fact.
"You'se can be the laughin' coon all right," he sneered, "but I guess two inches o' looking glass'd put you wise to yourself."
"Am I pale?" drawled the man on the wall; "it's this fear of you Bill, the fear of you that made me sick. Oh, please don't wag your gun. You don't suppose I'd have trusted you with it, unless I was absolutely sure of you."
Bill scowled suspiciously and thumbed back the hammer of the revolver.