“I’ll show you what I can do!” shouted Tolley, mounting upon the pulpit platform. He whirled about, and saw Hunt entering the room. “Here’s that danged preacher now.”
“Mr. Tolley,” said the parson clearly, “the wicked have been known to come to the house of God to scoff and have remained to pray. We are going to hold a service here in a quarter of an hour. You are invited to join us. But if you remain, I must ask you to be quiet.”
“Why, you derned, white-livered tenderfoot! I’ll show you——”
He seized upon Mother Tubbs’ big Bible and raised it as though he would fling it upon the ground. Betty gasped. Judson started forward. But Hunt’s voice rang loudest through the room.
“Tolley! Put that Book down!”
The compelling tone made the divekeeper pause. He still glared, his face distorted by wrath; but, as Joe Hurley had once said, the fellow after all had not the courage of a rabbit. He really expected Hunt to follow the command with the only show of authority that went in Canyon Pass—the display of a gun!
But the parson had made no threatening gesture. He did not even advance down the room.
“Dang you!” yelled Tolley, and brought the Bible down upon the pulpit with such emphasis that the desk rocked.
The following instant his head was surrounded by a halo of fine particles, the pungency of which was apparent to the surprised spectators almost at once. Tolley received the blast of powdered cayenne full in the face and eyes!
He gasped—choked—sneezed. He sneezed again, a most vociferous roar of sound, quite involuntary and spasmodic. The pepper that had been sprinkled between the leaves of the big book had in one burst pelted Tolley with its fine grains, filling eyes, nose, and his mouth, for that had been open to emit another angry shout.