“If you like to put it so.”
“I won’t stand for it. That ain’t square.”
“You’ll stand for it, my friend. I gave you a chance to clear out and you wouldn’t take it.”
“I wouldn’t because I couldn’t. Don’t make any mistake about this. I’m not looking for Luck. I’m attending to my business. Arrest him if you want to stop trouble.”
There came a knock on the door. It opened to admit Luck Cullison. He shut it and put his back to it, while his eyes, hard as hammered iron, swept past the officer to fix on Fendrick.
The latter rose quickly from the bed, but O’Connor flung him back.
“Don’t forget you’re my prisoner.”
“He’s your prisoner, is he?” This was a turn of affairs for which Luck was manifestly unprepared: “Well, I’ve come to have a little settlement with him.”
Fendrick, tense as a coiled spring, watched him warily. “Can’t be any too soon to suit me.”
Clear cut as a pair of scissors through paper, Bucky snapped out his warning. “Nothing stirring, gentlemen. I’ll shoot the first man that makes a move.”