“’Scuse me, Mars’ Billyum, but don’t you want ole Skibo to squelch ’im?”
“No, no, Skibo; thanks. I guess it will soon blow over.”
But it didn’t blow over, and the bad man worked himself into a perfect frenzy while raving at the unterrified scout.
“I’ll make a pin wheel o’ you over my head,” he roared, leaning forward and grasping Buffalo Bill by the shoulders.
When he had done that the man from Laramie suddenly kicked the table over, and left nothing between the bad man and his intended victim.
Dan attempted to change the hold of one of his huge hands from the scout’s shoulder to the thigh for his usual spectacular performance, but he found his own wrist suddenly caught in a viselike grip.
The bad man struggled for the release of his arm, for a moment, and was manifestly surprised that he could not readily wrench the imprisoned member from the grasp of any man.
And then, before he realized the possibility of such a happening, the bad man felt his opponent step in close, and the next instant he was whirling through the air, to land on a table and crash with it to the floor.
Fighting Dan got up slowly, and for a moment stared at the scout in dazed surprise; then he reached for his guns. Before his hands had fairly touched their butts he found himself peering into the sinister-looking muzzle of the scout’s rigid revolver.
“Hold on, amigo!” he shouted; “I wa’n’t goin’ ter shoot; I was on’y goin’ ter take off me weapons an’ git ready ter mop up this hyar barroom with ye.”