"Ahuh! Wade, I'd sure preferred them chances of swingin' to your over-kind interferin' in my bizness. Allus interferin', Wade, thet's your weakness!... But gimmie a gun!"
"I reckon not, Cap."
"Gimme a gun!" roared the rustler. "Lemme sit hyar an' shoot the eyes outen this--lyin' pup of a Belllounds!... Wade, put a gun in my hand--a gun with two shells--or only one. You can stand with your gun at my head.... Let me kill this skunk!"
For all Belllounds could tell, death was indeed close. No trace of a Belllounds was apparent about him then, and his face was a horrid spectacle for a man to be forced to see. A froth foamed over his hanging lower lip.
"Cap, I ain't trustin' you with a gun just this particular minute," said Wade.
Folsom then bawled his curses to his comrades.
"----! Kill him! Throw your guns an' bore him--right in them bulgin' eyes!... I'm tellin' you--we've gotta fight, anyhow. We're agoin' to cash right hyar. But kill him first!"
Neither of Folsom's lieutenants yielded to the fierce exhortation of their leader or to their own evilly expressed passions. It was Wade who dominated them. Then ensued a silence fraught with suspense, growing more charged every long instant. The balance here seemed about to be struck.
"Wade, I've been a gambler all my life, an' a damn smart one, if I do say it myself," declared the rustler leader, his voice inharmonious with the facetiousness of his words. "An' I'll make a last bet."
"Go ahead, Cap. What'll you bet?" answered the cold voice, still gentle, but different now in its inflection.