"Up the river, is he?" panted M'Ginnis.
"'S right, Bud, up the river in his big house—with her. I—"
"Is he, by—"
"A dandy place f' honeymoonin', Bud!"
"Loan me your gun, Soapy. I'll get him, by God! if I have t' shoot him in her arms—loan me y'r gun!"
"I guess not, Bud, no, I guess not. I'd feel kind o' lonesome without th' feel of it. Ask Heine; he'll loan you his; it's gettin' t' be quite a habit with him, ain't it, Heine?"
M'Ginnis sat awhile glaring down at his clutching right hand, then he rose, opened his desk, and took thence a heavy revolver, and slipped it inside his coat.
"You're comin' with me, Heine," said he, "I'll want you."
"Sure thing, Bud," nodded Heine, chewing his cigar. "But what about lettin' Soapy tag along too."
"Soapy," said M'Ginnis, striding to the door, "Soapy can go t' hell right now."