Kin I sit up? I
'm dog tired--lyin' yere."
"Unbuckle your belt, and throw that over first."
"I'm damned--if I will. Not--in no Injun--country."
"I know it's tough," retorted Hampton, with exasperating coolness, his
revolver's muzzle held steady; "but, just the same, it's got to be
done. I know you far too well to take chances on your gun. So
unlimber."
"Oh, I--guess not," and Murphy spat contemptuously. "Do ye think--I 'm
afeard o' yer--shootin'? Ye don't dare--fer I 'm no good ter ye--dead."
"You are perfectly right. You are quite a philosopher in your way.
You would be no good to me dead, Murphy, but you might prove fully as
valuable maimed. Now I 'm playing this game to the limit, and that
limit is just about reached. You unlimber before I count ten, you
murderer, or I 'll spoil both your hands!"
The mocking, sardonic grin deserted Murphy's features. It was sullen
obstinacy, not doubt of the other's purpose, that paralyzed him.
"Unlimber! It's the last call."
With a snarl the scout unclasped his army belt, dropped it to the
ground, and sullenly kicked it over toward Hampton.
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