“Afraid, oh no!” Trawley replied, indifferently. “Of course not. You kin shoot as straight as he can. Besides, if it come to the worst—if he did happen to git the best of it—you are in as good a shape to die as any man I know. You'd leave your wife an' family well provided for. Take my advice and don't give 'im a chance to draw a gun. Pull down, and pull down quick!”
Trawley led the way back into the stable, and at the front the two men parted. Hoag was on the sidewalk when Trawley called to him, and came to his side.
“If you hain't got a gun on you, you kin take mine,” he said, in a low tone.
“I've got one,” Hoag answered, a far-off look in his eyes, and he slid a hand over his bulging hip-pocket. “I never go without it.”
“Well, if nothin' happens, then I'll meet you tonight,” Trawley reminded him. “We must put that thing through.”
Hoag nodded. “All right,” he returned, abstractedly. “All right—all right.”
“If nothin' happens!” The words fairly stung his consciousness as he walked away. “If nothin' happens!” His feet and legs felt heavy. There was a cold, tremulous sensation in the region of his pounding heart.