"If you don't mind, just drop that little barker, Mister What's-Your-Name. It might go off and accidentally hit somebody. In that case I should have to shoot you. I'd hate to waste any lead on you, and I don't think you're worth the price of a shell."
For one uncertain moment the stranger sat with revolver pointed toward Tad, his gaze fixed on Chunky.
"Don't try any tricks. I can shoot just as quickly as you can, and I know I can do it a whole lot straighter. Drop it!"
The revolver fell to the ground, the man's lower jaw hanging so low that Stacy could look into his mouth.
The fellow twitched slightly at his bridle rein to turn his horse about, but the move was not lost on the watchful Chunky.
"Want to lose that horse? If so, just keep on with what you are doing! That little black spot in his forehead would make a dandy mark. After the horse is down I may conclude to decorate your features, too. Oh, I'm a terror when I get started. I'm not started yet. You may think I am, but I'm not. This is just a preliminary skirmish, as the Professor would say. When the real sortie begins the air will be filled with the yells of the dead and the silence of the living."
Growling under his breath the stranger checked his horse.
"I'll git you yet, you young whelp!" he threatened.
"Tut, tut!" warned Stacy. "Such language before an innocent boy like me? I am amazed. You must have had an awful bad bringing up."
"Stacy!"