Another hand gripped Meek by the shoulder and literally jerked him around.
“So you’re the guy!” yelped the owner of the hand. “I been looking for you. I’ve a good notion to smack you in the puss.”
“Now, Bud,” yelled Moe, in mounting fear, “you leave him alone. He ain’t done a thing.”
Meek gaped at the angry face of the hulking man, who still had his shoulder in the grip of a monstrous paw.
Bud Craney! The ring-rat that had stolen Gus’ injector! The captain of the Thirty-seven team.
“If there was room,” Craney grated, “I’d wipe up the floor with you. But since there ain’t, I’m just plain going to hammer you down about halfway into it.”
“But he ain’t done nothing!” shrilled Moe.
“He’s an outsider, ain’t he?” demanded Craney. “What business he got coming in here and messing around with things?”
“I’m not messing around with things, Mr. Craney,” Meek declared, trying to be dignified about it. But it was hard to be dignified with someone lifting one by the shoulder so one’s toes just barely touched the floor.