Plummer at once stepped up and handed Dick his revolver, and the crowd gathered around him and Crawford. Phleger drew his pistol, and Crawford said to him,
“Harry, I suppose these men have come to kill me. You are my only friend, and I’ll make you a present of my six-shooter. I suppose I’ve got to die.”
“Who will kill you?” asked Phleger.
“Plummer, I suppose. He threatened it,” was the reply.
“Not a man here dare shoot you,” said Phleger, at the same time looking around upon the crowd, and characterizing it by a degrading epithet.
Plummer at this jumped forward, and seizing Phleger’s revolver, tried to wrest it from him. In the grapple Plummer was thrown, when Phleger drawing another pistol from his belt, presented both ready cocked to the crowd, which was now pressing threateningly towards him, and calling to Crawford, said,
“Come on, Hank, let’s get out of this,” and both backed out into the street facing their assailants, who did not follow them.
Phleger and Crawford started for the lodgings of the latter, passing on the way the meat market, where they were joined by Johnny Shepard and another man, who, taking all the arms they could find, went with them. As soon as they arrived at the room, Crawford, completely unnerved, lay down and cried himself to sleep. Phleger was made of sterner stuff, and watched all night. Some one rapped at the door at midnight, but was told by Phleger that if he attempted to enter, he would shoot him “on sight.”
On the morning of the second day after this occurrence, Plummer came up the street, gun in hand, peeping by the way into the saloons and market for Crawford. Not finding him, he assumed a watchful attitude, and stood leaning on his gun, twenty steps distant from the door of the market. Crawford not appearing, after half an hour he walked on with “Deaf Dick” to Phleger’s room. Phleger met him at the door, and invited him in.
“No,” said Plummer, “you’ve set yourself up for a game-cock, and to let you know that I hold you in no fear, I’ve come up to give you a chance to display your skill. Get your gun and we’ll try an exchange of shots at ten paces.” This invitation was interlarded with the usual complement of oaths and epithets. Harry felt the abuse of Plummer keenly, but knew too well his skill with fire-arms to consent to the murderous proposition.