“You are not,” declared Neale. “Hurry up. Finish your story.”
“Wal, the big bloke swaggered all over me, an’ I seen right off thet he didn’t have sense enough to be turned. Then I got cold. I always used to.... He says, ‘Are you goin’ to keep away from Ruby?’
“An’ I says, very polite, ‘I reckon not.’
“Then he throws hisself in shape, like he meant to leap over a hoss, an’ hollers, ‘Pull yer gun!’
“I asks, very innocent, ‘What for, mister?’
“An’ he bawls fer the crowd. ‘’Cause I’m a-goin’ to bore you, an’ I never kill a man till he goes fer his gun.’
“To thet I replies, more considerate: ‘But it ain’t fair. You’d better get the fust shot.’
“Then the fool hollers, ‘Redhead!’
“Thet settled him. I leaps over QUICK, slugged him one—lefthanded. He staggered, but he didn’t fall.... Then he straightens an’ goes fer his gun.”
Larry halted again. He looked as if he had been insulted, and a bitter irony sat upon his lips.