t your fault that
you didn't kill me, and it will be my fault if I don't even matters up
with you!"

Poor Buxton slowly came to the upright position, with jaws dropping and
eyes staring. He could only mumble:

"W-w-what's the matter?"

"Nothing with me; it's _you_ that's in a hole."

Believing it was all up with him, the terrified victim stood mute.

"I ought to shoot you down and I'll do so if you don't obey me."

"W-w-what do you want?" Buxton managed to stammer out.

"Dance!" was the crisp command.

The citizen stared, not comprehending the order.

"We cowboys in the West when we want a little fun make a tenderfoot dance
while we fire our revolvers at his feet. BEGIN!"

The victim lowered the point of the gun so as to point it at the shoes of
Mr. Buxton.

"I--I--can't dance; never done it in my life," he stuttered.

"Can't begin earlier. Start up!"

Knowing what was ordered, the victim obeyed. He leaped up and down,
shuffled his feet and made such comical antics that the gun wabbled in
the hands of the laughing master of the situation.

"I have one loaded barrel left and I'm aching to let you have it! Keep it
up!"

Now that he had started, Mr. Buxton threw more vigor into his steps. He
bounded in the air, side-stepped, kicked out his feet, tried a number of
fancy movements of which he knew nothing, and acted like an energetic
youth taking his first lessons in that branch of the terpsichorean art
called buck dancing.

"Turn your back toward me and dance all the way home! If you let up for
one minute or look around I'll blaze away, and you won't get the charge
in your _feet_! Remember that!"

Mr. Buxton reflected that having left home so jauntily with loaded weapon
over his shoulder, it would be anything but a dignified return to dance
back again without it. If he jig-stepped down the main street some
neighbor was likely to see him and make remarks. A waltz through the
gate, up the steps of the porch and into the hall, by which time it would
probably be safe for him to cease his exhausting performance, would
undoubtedly cause annoying inquiries on the part of his wife and family.

But there was hope. He might gain a start that would make it safe to
resume his natural gait. He did his best. Facing the boundary fence less
than two hundred yards away he kicked up his heels, swung his arms in
unison, and steadily drew away from that fearful form standing with gun
levelled at him. He yearned to break