"Oh, you will, eh?" asked Haverhill, with a sneer. "And who are you?"
"No tenderfoot, if that's what you mean. I was out in California in '49, when you were eating bread and milk, and you can't bluff me. Don't you draw that gun!" suddenly exclaimed the brave miner, as he saw Haverhill's hand stealing toward the revolver.
"You dare give me orders!" exclaimed the other. "Why—why—dynamite and rattlesnakes—I'll—I'll eat you alive!"
"You will, eh?" exclaimed Gabe, taking a step closer to the man. Every one expected to see some "gun-play," but, for some reason, the man who had invited Jed to drink seemed so astonished at Gabe's defiance that he did not know what to say.
"Yes, and I'll—I'll——" spluttered the man, in his rage.
"That'll do you now!" replied Gabe quietly. "If you know what's good for you, you'll get out of here."
"I will? What for, I'd like to know?"
"Because, Sam Small, alias Ned Haverhill, alias Short-card Ike, I know who you are, and if you don't leave at once I'll report you to the United States marshal. I know you well, but you fooled me at first. You were Con Morton's partner when he swindled me out of the best part of my fortune, and you can tell Con, when you see him, that I'm looking for him. Now clear out!"
"Why—why—you dare order me——" began the gambler, as if he could not believe what he heard.
"Yes, you'd better go, Ned," advised the bar-keeper in a low voice. Gabe's quiet manner, and the way he spoke, convinced the hotel keeper that the old miner had spoken the truth, and the saloon man did not want trouble with the authorities.