I heard Donoghue gasp, you would have thought more in fear than in exultation: "Say! When he gets this ways you want to be back out of his way."
"Look at me!" said Apache, standing up. "You see I 've got on no belt; my gun's lying there with the belt. I 've got no knife—nothing. Will you stand up, sir, and let me show you if I 'm soft, seeing that I have given you my word—not to kill you?" You should have heard the way these last words came from him. "Will you stand up and let me just hammer you within an inch of your end?"
Farrell did not quail; I will do him that justice. But he sat considering, and then he jerked his head and jerked it again doggedly, and, "No," he said, "no, I reckon not."
The fire of anger had leapt quick enough to life in Apache Kid, and it seemed to ebb as suddenly.
"All right," he said. "All right. Perhaps it is better so. It would dirty my hands to touch you. And indeed," he was moving back to his place now, "lead is too clean for you as well."
He turned as he reached where his blankets lay.
"Farrell," he said, "it is at the end of a rope that you will die."
CHAPTER XV
In Which the Tables Are turned—at Some Cost
