"Sure! Only this artillery ain't goin' t' be no good t' you t'night—ye see, Bud—ain't here! 'S rough on ye, Kid, 's rough, but he ain't!"
"W—what—d' ye mean?" stammered the boy.
"I mean as you comin' here t' plug holes in Bud's carcase it's kind o' rough on you as there ain't goin' t' be no carcase here to plug. Y' see, Bud's took his carcase up-town with him t'night—"
"You're a liar, Soapy, a liar! Bud's inside, I know he is. Leggo my arm, you can't con me!"
"'S right, Kid, I ain't tryin'. Only I'm tellin' you Bud's left me an' Lefty t' run things here t'night. Bud's up-town at his old man's place. I know because—I sent him, see?"
"You sent him—you? Ah, come off! You couldn't!"
"'S right, Kid; I got him away by a fake telegram."
The boy ventured a long, quivering sigh, his whole frame relaxed, and in that instant Soapy wrenched the weapon from his loosened hold and rose. Choking with passion, Spike sprang at him, but Soapy fended him off with a long arm.
"Gimme that gun!"
"Behave, Kid, behave, else I'll have t' dot ye one! Be good an' chase off home; this ain't no place for you t'night—nor no other time."