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"A matter of five minutes' talk, to start with. You see that hand-car house?" "Perfectly well," Quest assented. "My eyesight is quite normal." "Get there, then. I'm a yard behind you and my revolver's pointing for the middle of your back." Quest looked at it anxiously. "You have the air, my red friend," he remarked, "of being unaccustomed to those delicate weapons.
"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.
He went to a case of drawers and stood before it, supporting himself by the handles of the second drawer. "Yes," he reflected, "the revolver's in that drawer." He released the handles and staggered back to his chair. "I'm crazy," he muttered, "crazy as a loon. I ought to ring for the doctor."
He pulled even mine to pieces, pointing out the revolver's not being where I said it had fallen. He declared there was a plot against the prisoner; that the gunsmith who had testified about the buying of the pistol had been bribed to do so; and he appealed to the feelings of humanity and justice in the jury. He spoke beautifully.
As for Ali Bobo, strong though he was, he felt himself to be a perfect baby in the grasp of the scout. The two men submitted at once, and while Petroff ordered them in a low tone to keep silence, enforcing the order with the touch of a revolver's muzzle, the sergeant quickly bound their arms behind them.
Humphrey Goode must pull considerable weight around the courthouse, Rand surmised. "But you realize, that revolver's still loaded...." "Oh, that's not your worry. I'll draw the charges, or, better, fire them out. It stood one shot, it can stand the other five." "Well, would you mind if I called Mr. Goode on the phone?" Rand did, decidedly. However, he shook his head negligently.
It was all right, he told himself a dozen times; the officer was done for the back of that head and a past knowledge of a service revolver's work at close range told him that plain enough; it would take a good many minutes for the boy to tell his tale, and even then, if a party ventured back at once, it would take many more minutes in the dark and he was glad he thought to smash the lamp before they could find his charges or the wires.
Her little fingers were plucking at mine, which were stubbornly gripped about the revolver's stock. "I know you must not!" she answered. "You must not take human life!" It was a commandment she uttered, and I took it as such. Especially, when she added, "Do you think he would kill in that fashion?" That finished me.
Regardless of its unpleasant associations, that pistol is a valuable collector's item, and one of the assets of the estate. If I'm to get full value for the collection, for the heirs, I'll have to have that, to sell with the rest of the weapons." "Well, now, look here, Mr. Rand," Kirchner started to argue, "that revolver's a dangerous weapon. It's killed one man, already.
Bob started back; but the man was holding the revolver's butt to him. "Now come on!" besought the stranger with a strange note of pleading. "Don't wake your pardner!" Yielding, with a pleasant thrill, to the adventure of the situation, and it must be confessed, to a strong curiosity, Bob hastily assumed his outer clothing. Then, with the muzzle of the revolver, he motioned the stranger to proceed.
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