He sent an
appealing glance in the direction of the little Easterner. During
these moments he did not forget to wear his air of advanced pot-valor.
"They say they don't know what I mean," he remarked mockingly to the
Easterner.
The latter answered after prolonged and cautious reflection. "I
don't understand you," he said, impassively.
The Swede made a movement then which announced that he thought he
had encountered treachery from the only quarter where he had
expected sympathy if not help. "Oh, I see you are all against me. I
see-"
The cowboy was in a state of deep stupefaction. "Say," he cried,
as he tumbled the deck violently down upon the board. "Say, what are
you gittin' at, hey?"
The Swede sprang up with the celerity of a man escaping from a snake
on the floor. "I don't want to fight!" he shouted. "I don't want to
fight!"
The cowboy stretched his long legs indolently and deliberately.
His hands were in his pockets. He spat into the sawdust box. "Well,
who the hell thought you did?" he inquired.
The Swede backed rapidly toward a corner of the room. His hands were
out protectingly in front of his chest, but he was making an obvious
struggle to control his fright. "Gentlemen," he quavered, "I suppose I
am going to be killed before I can leave this house! I suppose I am
going to be killed before I can leave this house." In his eyes was the
dying swan look.
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