“Don’t you think it. I’m particular who I call by that name. I ain’t a friend of any man without sand in his gizzard. But I done give my word to Old Blister an’ I gotta come through. It’ll hurt you more’n it will me, anyhow.”
“I’ll quit an’ leave this part of the country,” Bob said wretchedly.
“I’m not stoppin’ you, but you won’t go till I’ve whopped you once good. Will you take it now?”
“Let’s talk it over reasonable,” Bob pleaded.
Dud looked disgusted. “I never see such a fellow for thinkin’ he could chin himself outa trouble. Nothin’ doing.”
“You’ve got no right to interfere in my affairs. It’s not yore business,” the worried victim of circumstances declared with an attempt at dignity.
“Say, don’t I know it? If I hadn’t promised Blister—But what’s the use? I done said I would, an’ I got to go through.”
“I’ll let you off yore promise.”
Dud shook his head. “Wish you could, but you can’t. It was to Blister I give my word. No, sir. You gotta take or give a lickin’, looks like. Either me or Bandy, I ain’t particular which.”
“You lay off me, Dud Hollister.”