He made a move, as though to reach for Bud, but the doctor grasped him by the arm.
"Softly, me old friend," he begged.
Came the sudden creak of the rough counter and Joe Burgoyne, the half-breed, flung himself straight at Bud, a knife in his hand. Burgoyne was only about ten feet away, and his spring was like that of a panther, but Bud was not caught napping.
Swiftly he side-stepped just in time to avoid Joe's rush, and as Joe flashed past him, Bud hooked him across the ankles with his foot, sending the half-breed spinning against the counter across the room.
The fight was all taken out of Joe. His long-bladed knife had flipped out of his hand and skidded under the counter—and Joe was not a bare-handed fighter. He swore softly and felt of his face, which had come into rasping contact with the rough counter.
"If I didn't feel sorry for yuh, I'd tie yuh in a knot and leave yuh to starve," declared Bud.
"Sorry?" Old Louie started forward. "You sorry?"
"Yeah," nodded Bud.
"W'at you sorry for, policeman?"