"Then you don't stand for me," cried Phinny, whisky-courageous, and he walked to the upper end of the bar.
"Oh, you shall have your satisfy, young rooster," sneered Papa Clair, in nowise contented with Tilton's evasion of a quarrel.
Tilton waved the crowd back and talked earnestly to Papa who heard him sullenly.
"I agree," shortly said Papa as the saloon-keeper finished. "It is poor sport when so much better could be had for the asking."
With that he returned to Lander, twisting his long mustaches and trembling with anger.
"We are to go over to Bloody Island," he rapped out.
"Good!"
"As the challenged person he chooses pistols. Sacrilege!" snapped Papa.
"I do not care. Let it be pistols. Only let's go to business."
"My friend, be patient. You shall soon face him. It is not because I fear for you with pistols that I grieve. It is because you blundered and played into their hands. When all was so prettily staged for clean knife-play! Bah! Honor is more easily satisfied these days. But there were
