He, in the meantime, remained crouching some six feet from the open door, revolver in hand.
“I say!” called Garland, from the hall.
“Say ahead,” called Chick coolly. “Come on with it.”
“You’d better quit and throw up your hands again,” Garland advised.
“May they wither, Garland, if I do,” replied Chick. “If you cannot think of anything better to say, you’d better keep quiet.”
“Oh, we’ll get you finally.”
“Is that so?”
“You bet it’s so. There is no way for you to get out.”
“Nor for you to get in,” Chick retorted.
“We can starve you out.”