“He wasn’t mad—he only had a fit. He gits ’em often. I want yer to pony up twenty-five dollars fer him. If yer don’t I’ll fix ye, see?”
“I’ll not pay a cent,” cried Carl. “He was mad and we can easily prove it.”
“No sech thing, boy! Are yer goin’ ter pay?”
“No.”
“Then take that!”
The fellow raised the rawhide whip and brought it down with a whir over Carl’s head.
Had the rawhide descended as intended the young magician would have been seriously injured.
But Carl was not to be caught unawares.
He leaped aside, and before the man could raise the whip again, Leo wrenched it from his grasp.
“Give me that whip or I’ll fix yer, as sure as my name is Jack Darrow!” fumed the fellow.