ung over his right
shoulder; one arm he carried in a sling, but as far as this concerned
Stone, it was the wrong arm. Daring neither to raise the whisky to his
lips nor to set the glass down, lest Laramie, suspecting he meant to
draw, should shoot, Stone stood rooted. "McAlpin's not going to drink,
Stone," repeated Laramie. "What are you going to do about it?"

The mere sight of Laramie would have been a vastly unpleasant surprise.
But to find himself faced by him in fighting trim after what had taken
place in the morning was an upset.

"What am I going to do about it?" echoed Stone, lifting his eyebrows
and grinning anew. "What are you going to do about it, Jim?" he
demanded. "You and me used to bunk together, didn't we?"

"I bunked with a rattlesnake once. I didn't know it," responded
Laramie dryly. "Next morning the rattlesnake didn't know it."

"Jim, I'll drink you just once for old times."

"I wouldn't drink with you, Stone. No man would drink with you if he
wasn't afraid of you. And after tonight nobody's going to be afraid of
you. You're a thief among thieves, Tom Stone: a bully, a coward, a
skulker. You shoot from cover. When Barb made you foreman, you and
Van Horn stole his cattle, and Dutch Henry sold 'em for you and divvied
with you. Then, for fear Barb would get wise, you and Van Horn got up
the raid and killed Dutch Henry, so he couldn't talk.

"Now you're going to quit this stuff. No more thieving, no more
man-killing, no bullyragging, no nothing. Tenison will clear this
room. Hold your glass right where it is, till the last man gets out.
When he gets out set down your glass; you'll have time enough allowed
you. After that, draw where you stand. You're not entitled to a
chance. God, Stone, I'd _rather_ bunk with a rattlesnake than with
you. I'd rather kill one than kill a thing like you. Your head ought
to be pounded with a rock. You're entitled to nothing. But you can
have your chance. Get the boys out of here, Harry."

Not for one instant did he take his eye off Stone's eye, or raise his
tone above a speaking voice, and Laramie's voice was naturally low. To
catch his syllables, listeners crowded in and craned their necks. Few
men withdrew but everyone courteously and sedulously got out of the
prospective line of fire.

What it cost Laramie even to stand on his feet and talk, Tenison could
most shrewdly estimate. From behind the bar he coldly regarded the
wounded man.