In a low voice he said: “Get away from that door, Bender—we're going out!”
Behind him there was a milling of feet. Somebody cried: “Here we go!” and another voice shouted: “We'll show these bootleggers something!”
Tom Bender was pressed flat against the door working his elbows to clear his coat from in front so he could get to his guns unimpeded and saying in a tense voice:
“There ain't gonna be no mob stuff—I'm telling you that! I know the girl got killed... and that the town's filled with bootleggers and gamblers... but I'm gonna handle it my own way and you might as well get that straight!”
The men surged and carried Peebles a step forward. He turned and spread his thin arms saying ”. . . Wait,” and faced Bender again. The big Ranger had his feet planted wide, there was a heavy scowl on his face and his hands were on his hips. A little excited, Peebles shrilled: “Get outta the way!”
Bender didn't budge. He felt immensely relieved that he had got set for action without touching off an explosion and he knew he had the upper hand now. He told Peebles to cool off in a tone that was almost banter.
“All right,” the old man rasped; “I'm gonna count three and if you don't move we'll move you... One... Two...”
Jeff Peebles took a step forward and a blue-black .45 automatic came into the Ranger's hand. He pointed it at Peebles' belly and said:
“Okay—but I'll plug the first guy that gets in close!”
Old Jeff Peebles' eyes went shut in high, impotent rage, the muscles in his face and neck twitched violently and for a moment Bender thought he was coming on anyway. He said: “By—!” through his clenched teeth and fell back a step.