"You won't shoot, Barney,
because since I knew I might meet you and you'd pull a gun, I had
myself searched by two friends just before I came up here. They'll
testify I was not armed. They know you, and know you so well that
they'll be able to identify the thing in your hand as your gun. So no
matter what Maggie and Jimmie may testify, the verdict will be cold-
blooded murder and the electric chair will be your finish. And that's
why I know you won't shoot. So you might as well put the gun away."
Barney neither spoke nor moved.
"I've called your bluff, Barney," Larry said sharply. "Put that gun
away, or I'll take it from you!"
Barney's glare wavered. The pistol sank from its position. With a
lightning-swift motion Larry wrenched it from Barney's hand.
"Guess I'd better have it, after all," he said, slipping it into a
pocket. "Keep you out of temptation."
And then in a subdued voice that was steely with menace: "I'm too busy
to attend to you now, Barney--but, by God, I'm going to square things
with you for the dirt you've done me, and I'm going to show you up for
a stool and a squealer!" He wheeled on Old Jimmie. "And the only
reason I'll be easy with you, Jimmie Carlisle, is because you are
Maggie's father--though you're the rottenest thing as a father God
ever let breathe!"
Old Jimmie shrank slightly before Larry's glower, and his little eyes
gleamed with the fear of a rat that is cornered.
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