"A what?"
"Tarantula bite—don't laugh, Bub."
Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol.
"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up.
"Quite keerect, Bub!"
"Can I do anything for you?"
"Nope."
Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. Frawley's English reserve was outraged.
"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the white feather now, are you?"
With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered.