"Buster, I was only handin' you a bunch of flowers--some columbines, as your taste runs," replied Wade, contemptuously.
"I'll--I'll--" returned Buster Jack, wildly, bursting for expression. His hand went to his gun.
"Go ahead, Buster. Throw your gun on me. That'll save maybe a hell of a lot of talk."
It was then Jack Belllounds's face turned livid. Comprehension had dawned upon him.
"You--you want me to fight you?" he queried, in hoarse accents.
"I reckon that's what I meant."
No affront, no insult, no blow could have affected Buster Jack as that sudden knowledge.
"Why--why--you're crazy! Me fight you--a gunman," he stammered. "No--no. It wouldn't be fair. Not an even break!... No, I'd have no chance on earth!"
"I'll give you first shot," went on Wade, in his strange, monotonous voice.
"Bah! You're lying to me," replied Belllounds, with pale grimace. "You just want me to get a gun in my hand--then you'll drop me, and claim an even break."