“When I have done that, I shall take my colored friend aboard and have the honor of bidding you good day until we meet again.”
This was a clear proposal and could not fail to impress Bill favorably, no matter whether he meant to “tote fair” or not. Bill didn’t seem able to think of any objection or to suggest an amendment.
“All right,” he shouted back; “I’ll do it.”
Harvey meant there should be no room for a misunderstanding.
“I am to come down to the ground, hand you ten dollars as a salve—”
“I guess Herb will need some salve for that face of his,” grimly interjected Bill.
“And another ten dollars to pay for the damages to the gun. That will make everything right between us and none of you will interfere further.”
“I’m agreeable; hurry down.”
It was at this juncture that Harvey Hamilton received warning of a frightful peril that in another moment would have caught him inextricably. He had started to volplane to the ground, when an impulse caused him to turn his head sufficiently to glance at the man with whom he had just made his agreement. In that passing glimpse, Harvey saw a hand reach from behind the trunk of a large oak at the back of Bill and exchange guns with him.
It was done in a twinkling, only the arm holding the weapon and the corner of the fellow’s face showing for an instant, during which he placed in the grasp of Bill a loaded piece and relieved him of the useless one.