"Yes, yes. C'mon!"
"Wuh-want mum-money now!" yelped the contumacious Jerry, "or I'll pup-put you in jail!"
At which Felix lost his patience and his head and gave Jerry the bum's rush through the doorway. Jerry skidded across the sidewalk and slid a yard on his nose. This annoyed him considerably. He sat up, supporting himself on a wavering elbow and squalled, "Yuh-you nun-needn't thuh-think I'm gug-gonna lul-lie for you nun-no longer! If you dud-don't gug-gimme plenty mum-money, I'm gug-gonna tell folks how yuh-you huh-held up the sush-stage yourself all dressed up in Bill Wingo's clothes sho you cuc-could throw the bub-blame on him!"
Most certainly then the gambler would have put a bullet through Jerry Fern had not Shotgun Shillman and Riley Tyler been too quick for him.
"Now, now, Felix, calm down," suggested Shotgun.
"He's a liar!" foamed Felix, struggling to jerk his gun arm free. "I never held up the stage! Bill Wingo did it himself! Ask Sam Larder!"
"Was Sam there, too?" said Riley, with fresh interest. "Here, Sam, wait a minute. What's your hurry?"
"Got to see a man," mumbled Sam. "Be right back."
"Stay a while," invited Riley Tyler.
Sam Larder regarded the muzzle of Riley's gun. "All right," said Sam Larder.