“Und you don’d vant to dell me someding?”
“No.”
“Den vy der tickens you shtop me like dot? Clear oudt oof der vay und I vill rite on.”
The baron had had time, by now, to observe the peculiar actions of the men from the Three-ply. As he finished speaking he tried to spur his horse ahead.
Jacobs, however, blocked the forward movement by grabbing the bit-rings of the baron’s horse.
“You vill ged me madt in a minid,” said the baron. “Led go oof dot horse, or I vill gif you a piece oof my mind mit my fist. I don’d like dot ugly face oof yours, Chacops, und I vill put some marks all ofer id oof you don’t ged avay.”
The baron hauled back his right arm. Another moment and he found Bernritter glaring at him over the muzzle of a revolver.
“No rough-house work, Dutchy,” said Bernritter.
The baron was taken aback. But only for as long as it takes to bat an eye.
“Two can play at dot game!” he cried, and dropped his hand toward his belt.