n near killed him for it;
I am going to give him ten minutes to get out of town. If he doesn't
do it, I am going to kill him. And in that ten minutes he is going to
find time to eat his words."

"I'll see you in--" began Quinnion, as something of the old bluster
came back to him.

"Shut up!" snapped Lee. "Carson, let me have your gun."

Carson, wondering, gave it. Lee dropped it on the floor at Quinnion's
foot.

"Pick that gun up and we'll finish what we've begun," he said coolly to
Quinnion. "I won't shoot until you've got it in your hand and have
straightened up. Then I'll kill you. Unless first you admit that you
are the contemptible liar every one knows you are, and second, get out
of town and stay out. It's up to you, Quinnion."

Knowing Quinnion, the men moved swiftly so that they did not stand
behind either him or Lee. Sandy Weaver, shifting a few feet along his
bar, shook his head and sighed.

"It'll be both of them," he muttered.

Quinnion turned his head a little, his red-rimmed eyes going from face
to face, his tongue moving back and forth between his lips. For an
instant his eyes dropped to the gun at his feet, and a little spasmodic
contraction of his body showed that he was tempted to take up the
weapon. But he hesitated, and again turned to Lee.

"It's up to you," repeated Lee. "If you're not a coward after all,
pick it up." Lee's hands were at his sides, his own revolver in his
pocket. Quinnion was tempted. The evil lights in his eyes danced like
witch-fires. Again he hesitated; but his hesitation was brief. With
his whining, ugly laugh he lurched to the bar.

"Gimme a drink, Sandy," he commanded.

"Neither now nor after a while," Sandy told him briefly. "I ain't
dirtyin' my glasses that-a-way."

"There you are," jeered Quinnion, with a sullen sort of defiance. "You
swat me over the head while I ain't lookin' an' then bring me in here
where they're all your friends. If I drop you I get all mussed up with
their bullets. No, thanks."

"For the last time," said Lee, and his low voice was ominous, "I tell
you what to do. If you don't do it, I'll kill you just the same.
You've got your chance. Count ten seconds, Sandy."

"One," said Sandy, watching the clock on the wall, "two, three, four,
five, six, seven----"

"Curse you!" cried Quinnion then, a look of fear at last in his eyes.
"I'll get you for this some day, Bud Lee. Now you've got me----"

"Keep on counting, S