"I am going to whip him—for your sake, Bill," answered Steve sternly.
He threw off his coat, tossing it behind him.
"Get the chairs and table out of the way, Barbee! No, I am not going to tie him up; that isn't necessary, Bill. I can handle him with my hands without tying him; I am going to do it. And then I am going to take the whip and lay it across him until his hide is in strips—or until he begs to be let go. Ready, Blenham?"
"Mean that?" snarled Blenham, a new look in his eye. "Mean you're goin' to give me an even break?"
But Bill Royce, fairly trembling with an eagerness strange to him, had clutched at Steve's arm, had found it, was holding him back, crying out excitedly:
"You're a good pal, Stevie; you're the best pal as ever was an' I know it! Didn't I always know you'd be like this? But can't you see, Stevie, can't you see it ain't enough another man should lick him, even when that man's my pardner, even when it's Stevie himself doin' it! Ain't I been waitin' an' waitin' to get my hands on him!"
Blenham, a little comforted by Steve's words, jeered openly now.
"Come on, Blind Billy," he taunted. "An' when I've throwed you into the junk pile I'll take on your friends! One at the time—you know how the sayin' goes!"
Steve was shaking Royce's hand from his arm.
"Let me do this for you, Bill," he said firmly. "It's only fair. If you could see, it would be different."