"How you goin' to do that if I won't go?"
"You're goin' to find out."
"You won't get no money shootin' me."
"Yes, I will—just as much—dead as alive."
With his hands raised a little way above the level of his shoulders, he stood rigidly at bay in the circle of light.
"Well," he croaked at last, "go ahead and shoot. I ain't aimin' to be took—not by no woman. Shoot, damn you, and have it done with. I'm waitin'!"
"Keep up those hands!"
"I won't!" He lowered them defiantly. "I w-wanted to m-make Partridgeville and see the old lady. She'd 'a' helped me. But anything's better'n goin' back to that hell where I been the last two years. Go on! Why don't you shoot?"
"You wanted to make Partridgeville and see—who?"
"My mother—and my wife."