Teagler nodded.
“Got something to show you,” he said, and arose.
“I wouldn’t,” came the harsh voice of the other man.
Slowly, Teagler turned back to face the stranger. He looked into the muzzle of a nickel-plated revolver. The weapon shook slightly in the diner’s hand, but the fellow’s eyes were coldly malignant.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the prospector.
“You know ⸺ well,” was the answer, followed by an outburst of cursing. “Don’t think you can fool me. I watched you when that ⸺ contraption was talking. Now, you sit down.”
Teagler slowly obeyed.
“I’ll see what you were after,” went on the stranger.
He crossed to a shelf, which supported a long drawer. Keeping partly turned toward Teagler, he opened the drawer, reached in suddenly, and drew out a big Colt’s.
“Thought so,” he muttered. “Well, I turned the tables right enough, eh?”