“Yer wrong, pard. I ain’t the man ye think I be. I never seen ye before,” protested Charlie.
“I’m speakin’ to ye, Charlie! Be ye goin’ to turn yer head or must I turn it fer ye after I’ve put ye in condition to turn?”
“I’ll kill ye fer this!” hissed the mountaineer. “Yer a coward, an’ ye wouldn’t dare talk to me like thet if things was equal.
“No, things ain’t equal, eh? Heah ye be, six of ye an’ I only one man; each of ye armed an’ lookin’ fer a chance to kill me, but not darin’ to try it, though I ain’t got a gun in my hand no more than ye fellers has. No, things ain’t equal. Draw, ye sneakin’ coyote! I’ll not touch my gun till your’n is out o’ the holster. Draw, you coward!”
Enraged beyond further endurance, and taking advantage of the visitor’s apparent relaxation, Mexican Charlie snatched at his gun, fumbled it in his nervous excitement, then jerked it free.
Like a flash of light the nervous hand of Sam Conifer flicked his own weapon out and two guns roared, one a fraction of a second ahead of the other. Mexican Charlie clapped a hand to his neck, as his weapon fell to the floor.
“Steady, fellers! We ain’t finished our little talk yit,” warned Sam. “Mex’s got it right whar he give it to me an’ he don’t like it. Neither did I. Tie yer handkerchief ’bout yer neck, Charlie, an’ we’ll finish what we got to say to each other, an’ this time ye’ll talk right out in meetin’ cause thar’s some things I’ve got to know, among them, who is bossin’ this heah gang o’ rustlers, an’ hoss thieves, an’ fellers thet—”
Sam did not finish his sentence. A rifle somewhere outside of the cabin roared, and the lantern swinging overhead crashed to the floor, leaving the room in sudden darkness.
Revolvers began to bark, weapons aimed at the spot where Sam Conifer had been standing. The firing was fast and furious for a moment, then the voice of Mexican Charlie was heard above the uproar.
“Git out! On the jump!” he shouted.