“I will not—I’ll kill you first!” screamed the unfortunate young man, and in his frenzy, his revolver was jerked from the sheath at his side.
Now Morton’s precautions stood him in good stead. Thompson sprung forward and clutched the half-crazed outlaw, pinning his arms closely to his sides, holding him powerless as a child.
Thus assisted, Morton quickly disarmed Colton, then motioned Thompson to release him. With a hot, angry glance around him, the young man stood still, quelling his emotion by a powerful exertion of will.
“Now let me know just what you mean by this action, Jack Colton. Have you forgotten your oath this soon? Do you intend to defy the league?”
“Yes—when you try to make me soil my hands with the blood of a brother,” was the firm reply.
“Ah, you remember the tie now, do you?” sneered Morton. “And yet, only a few weeks since, you swore that you’d have his heart’s blood. Have you forgotten that he cursed you, and drove you from his door like a dog, because, as he said, you insulted his wife?”
“He only served me right. I did insult her, but it was when I was drunk. Never mind that now. I tell you that I will not murder him.”
“Take care—you are sealing your own doom by these words. You have been told your duty—obey, or take the consequence.”
“Let it come. I am ready.”
“Durn the fool—what’s the use o’ palaverin’?” growled Thompson. “Here’s the bullets; shake ’em up, an’ give him a turn.”