“Who’s got the gun now?” he jeered, as he loosened the rope. “I only wish we had two of ’em!”
“You harebrained idiot!” Charley grabbed up his hat and spit sand from his mouth. “Get your horse and ride, you unthinkable donkey!”
“Pleasure first, business afterward!” Jeff unbuckled Gibson’s gunbelt and transferred it to his own waist, jerking Gibson to his feet in the violent process. “Now, you little blackguard, you either take back all that or you’ll get the lickin’ o’ your life! You’re too small; but all the same——”
“Oh, I’ll take it back, you big bully—all I said and a lot more I only thought!” said Charley spitefully. He was almost crying with rage as he limped to his horse. “She’s an angel on earth! Sure she is! Ride, you maniac—ride! Oh, you ought to be hung! I hope you do hang—you miserable ruffian!”
The following hoofs no longer rang sharply; they took on a muffled beat—they were in the sand’s edge not a mile behind.
“Ride ahead, you! I’ve got the gun, remember!” observed Jeff significantly; “but if you slur that girl again I’ll not shoot you—I’ll naturally wear you out with this belt.”