Choking with passion, Spike sprang at him, but Soapy fended him off with
a long arm.
"Gimme that gun!"
"Behave, Kid, behave, else I'll have t' dot ye one! Be good an' chase
off home; this ain't no place for you t'night--nor no other time."
"Gimme that gun!"
"No!"
Spike ceased the useless struggle and leaned against the fence, panting,
while Soapy reseated himself upon the battered pail.
"What you got t' come buttin' in for?" demanded the boy, "this ain't
your show, an' I guess you ain't so mighty fond o' Bud either--"
"'S right, too," nodded Soapy, "no, I ain't exactly fond of him, Kid;
leastways I don't run t' help him if he falls nor kiss th' place t' make
it well--no, Kid! But I kind o' feel that Bud's too good t' snuff it
this way, or snuff it--yet!"
"Good?" said the lad bitterly, "good--hell! He's ruined me, Soapy, he's
done me in! He's come between me an'--an' Hermy. He tried t' make me
think dirt of her, an' now--now I--I'm all alone; I ain't got nobody
left--oh, my God!" and huddling to the fence, Spike broke out into a
fierce and anguished sobbing, while Soapy, spinning the revolver
dexterously on his finger, watched him under drooping lids.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459