"Now I'm goin' to kill you, you—!"
Again the word, with even great conviction. The man's lips trembled with rage, but as he glared down at the other he saw the level, mocking eyes studying his. He had not yet impressed Tom Beck, had not made him fear! It was disconcerting.
"What you goin' to kill me with, Sam?"
"With your own gun, by God!"—spinning the cylinder.
A moment of silence while Sam looked at the dull barrel, a queer, quick hesitancy coming over him, something he did not understand, something he did not will. When, a moment before, he felt that the situation would take a course exactly as he willed!
"With my own gun!" Beck repeated.
McKee cocked the weapon and looked about.
"When you goin' to do this killing, Sam?"
The level, mocking tone infuriated the other.
"Now!" he cried, shaken by hate. "Now, by God!"