At that instant the young man sprang back a couple of paces, and the startled Buxton looking up saw that he stood firmly on both feet, with the shotgun pointed at him. He had snatched up the weapon while the owner was stooping over to inspect the wound.
“Now it’s my turn!” he said, with a chuckle. “It isn’t your fault that you didn’t kill me, and it will be my fault if I don’t even matters up with you!”
Poor Buxton slowly came to the upright position, with jaws dropping and eyes staring. He could only mumble:
“W-w-what’s the matter?”
“Nothing with me; it’s you that’s in a hole.”
Believing it was all up with him, the terrified victim stood mute.
“I ought to shoot you down and I’ll do so if you don’t obey me.”
“W-w-what do you want?” Buxton managed to stammer out.
“Dance!” was the crisp command.
The citizen stared, not comprehending the order.