“The first move made means I’ll brain this dog at my feet and then damage the rest of you as much as I can.”
Polcher and his henchmen stood motionless, wrathfully regarding the man at bay.
“You broke the rules by kicking,” said Polcher.
“Rules, you miserable liar and scoundrel!” hissed Jackson. Then in a loud voice, “Open that door and stand clear, or I’ll smash this punkin at my feet and rush you.”
“One minute!” softly said Polcher. And he whipped a long pistol from under the bar and levelled it at Jackson. “You set that jug on the bar and do it soft-like. You’ve played foul with my friend. He’s going to have a fair shake at you.”
“Just let me git at him!” sobbed Hester from the floor. “That’s all I ask, boys.”
“Before you can move that jug an inch, I’ll shoot your head off,” warned Polcher. “Put the jug down and step to the middle of the floor. No one will meddle while Mr. Hester has a fair chance.”
“Fair chance? You low-down murderers! Shoot and be——!”
“I’ll count three—then I’ll shoot. There’s witnesses here to say you come in drunk and hellin’ for a row and got it. One—two—”
“Drop that pistol, Polcher!” called a voice at the window.