He—“I’ve a damn notion to kill you, any how.”
I—“I am afraid you will. You don’t intend to kill me, but that pistol is pointed right at me, and you are nervous and it might go off.”
I positively saw that man move his pistol so that, had it been discharged, the bullet would have missed me by several feet. His voice quivered and I could see him tremble.
He—“Throw off that overcoat and step to one side.”
I complied.
I—“When you take the coat please take the papers from the pocket and leave them in the road.”
More conversation, and then:
He—“Pick up your coat and walk straight down the middle of the road; no bad breaks, now, or by —— I will kill you.”
And though I was never a Populist, I walked that night down the “middle of the road.”