"You ain't heeled, are ye? This ain't goin' t' be no gun-play—eh?"
"No, I haven't a gun, but I've brought his—neckerchief."
"Sufferin' Pete!" murmured the Spider in a strangely awed voice, and walked on in silence, chewing viciously.
"Bo," said he at last, "I'm thinkin' th' kindest thing I could do would be t' slip one over t' your point while you wasn't lookin', an' puttin' you t' sleep a bit—you want soothin'! Bud'll be too big fer you or any other guy t' tackle now; ye see, his stock's rose—th' Noo Jersey p'lice wasn't strong enough t' hold him—"
"That's where I'm different—I can!" said Ravenslee, opening and shutting his right hand convulsively. "Yes, I'll hold him till his last kick—and after!"
"My God!" exclaimed the Spider softly, and, beholding that clutching right hand, he edged away.
"Where you goin' t' look fer him?" he enquired after a while.
"O'Rourke's!"
"Why not try Raynor's first?" and he nodded to a saloon on the adjacent corner.
"Because I'm not a fool."