"You g-give me a gun an' see. I'd shoot any one t' save my sister from—th' river. Oh, my God—I—I'd die for her, an' she don't love me no more!" And leaning his head upon his arms, Spike burst into a passion of tears. M'Ginnis watched him awhile, then, filling the boy's glass, clapped him on the shoulder and held it to his lips.
"Neck this, Kid," said he, "neck it all—so, that's good, ain't it? To-morrow evenin' I'll take ye where they meet; maybe you'll ketch him waitin' for her—but instead of Hermy an' kisses there'll be you an' me, hey? Will ye come?"
"S-sure I will if—you'll gimme—your gun."
"Pshaw, Kid—what's a kid like you want with a gun?"
"T'shoot him—"
"Eh? What? D'ye mean—?"
"If he's after my sister, I'll—kill him! I will, by God, I will!"
"'S right," nodded Soapy, staring into the boy's drawn face, "'s right, Bud; if ever I see a killer—th' Kid's sure it!"
Slowly the glare died out of Spike's eyes, his body drooped, and sighing, he pillowed his heavy head upon the table and fell into a drunken slumber. For a while the two men sat there hearkening to his stertorous breathing, then Soapy laughed soft and mirthlessly. "You sure got th' Kid all worked up an' mad enough t'—kill, eh, Bud? If he does get up against this guy Geoff—this guy Geoff's sure goin' t' cash in—sudden. Consequently, I guess you'll be wantin' paper an' pencil—both here!"
"What th' hell—" began M'Ginnis.