“Yes,” snapped the gambler.
“Get it out in your hand, then, before, you talk to me any more in that fashion.”
“He won't,” mocked Tom. “He doesn't dare, Bodson. Your hands are not tied.”
“Cut it out, Rafe! Quit it!” ordered one of the other men in the crowd. “We won't let this tenderfoot split our ranks. You're one of us, and you'll stand by us.”
“Not if there's going to be any more hitting of tied men,” retorted Bodson sulkily. “There's a limit to what a man can stand.”
“Thank you, my friend,” broke in Tom Reade mildly. “But don't go to any trouble on our account. There are few if any others in this crowd who can understand the meaning of fair play—the gambler least of all.”
“I'll take that out of you, Reade!” blazed Jim Duff. “I'll—”
“You'll do nothing while the kid's hands are tied,” objected Bodson, stepping between the pair. “Act fair and square, Jim, as a man should act.”
“That's the argument, Rafe,” remarked another man, also stepping forward.
“Bully for you, Jeff Moore,” replied Rafe. “Now, remember, friends, we're not calling for anything except that Jim Duff live up to the program he just published for himself—the square deal.”