“Let’s hear you try.”
“He did it because I was young, just as Sam is; and because he figured that some day Sam might need a friend, too.”
“You’re a liar. He did it because you promised to sneak up to my ranch and spy on us. That’s why he did it.”
With the last word his gun jumped into sight. That he was lashing himself into a fury was plain. Presently his rage would end in a tragedy.
Given a chance, Curly would have run for it. But Soapy was a dead shot. Of a sudden the anger in the boy boiled up over the fear. In two jumps he covered the ground and jammed his face close to the cold rim of the blue steel barrel.
“I’m not heeled. Shoot and be damned, you coward. And with my last breath I’ll tell you that you’re a liar.”
Flandrau had called his bluff, though he had not meant it as one. A dozen men were in sight and were watching. They had heard the young man tell Stone he was not armed. Public opinion would hold him to account if he shot Curly down in cold blood. He hung there undecided, breathing fast, his jaw clamped tightly.
The lad hammered home his defiance. “Drop that gun, you four-flusher, and I’ll whale you till you can’t stand. Sabe? Call yourself a bad man, do you? Time I’m through with you there will be one tame wolf crawling back to Dead Cow with its tail between its legs.”
The taunt diverted his mind, just as Curly had hoped it would. He thrust the revolver back into the holster and reached for his foe.
Then everybody, hitherto paralyzed by the sight of a deadly weapon, woke up and took a hand. They dragged the two men apart. Curly was thrust into a barber shop on the other side of the street and Stone was dragged back into the Silver Dollar.