Without change of color—for despair stood too close for fear to come between—John fixed his eyes upon the drunken man's and began to rise. The weapon followed his face up.
"Enos, point that thing another way or I'll kill you." He took a slow step outward from the desk, the pistol following with a drunken waver more terrible than a steady aim. Enos spoke along its barrel, still holding up the sign.
"Is this little trick gwine to stay fetch in? Say 'yass, mawsteh,' aw I blow yo' head off."
But John still held the drunkard's eye. As he took up from his desk a large piece of ore, he said, "Enos, when a man like you leaves a gentleman's door open, the gentleman goes and shuts it himself."
"Yass, you bet! So do a niggah. Shell I shoot, aw does you 'llow——"
"I'm going to shut the door, Enos. If you shoot me in the back I swear I'll kill you so quick you'll never know what hurt you." With the hand that held the stone, while word followed word, the speaker made a slow upward gesture. But at the last word the stone dropped, the pistol was in March's hand, it flashed up and then down, and the drunkard, blinded and sinking from a frightful blow of the weapon's butt, was dragging his foe with him to the floor. Down they went, the pistol flying out of reach, March's knuckles at Enos's throat and a knee on his breast.
"'Nough," gasped the mountaineer, "'nough!"
"Not yet! I know you too well! Not till one of us is dead!" John pressed the throat tighter with one hand, plunged the other into his pocket, and drew and sprung his dirk. The choking man gurgled for mercy, but March pushed back his falling locks with his wrist and lifted the blade. There it hung while he cried,
"O if you'd only done this sober I'd end you! I wish to God you wa'n't drunk!"
"'Nough, Johnnie, 'nough! You air a gentleman, Johnnie, sir."