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Buck, Charles Neville, 1879-1930

"A Pagan of the Hills"

Ef any man makes a move ter draw a gun, I aims
straightway ter break this feller's neck. Don't let no man move from
where he stands at!"
Astonishment enforced a momentary obedience, save that the man upon
whose shoulders the gigantic hands lay--not as yet heavily--attempted
to squirm away. Iron-like fingers bit into his flesh and, wincing with
a smothered yell of pain, he stood trembling. Halloway passed one hand
over his hostage's shoulder and drew the pistol from its holster--then
he sent the fellow spinning from him like a top, and covered the
others, who huddled close together. "Yore guns--grip-fust--an'
speedily," he directed, in that still voice that carried terror, and
brought immediate obedience.
"Ye promised us--thet ye wouldn't hold us accountable," whined the
operator, and Halloway laughed, as he unloaded the captured pistols and
tossed them into a corner.
"What I promised war not ter visit no revengeance on ther wrong
fellers," he corrected. "Never mind how I knows hit--but I does know
thet no message ever come from ther Coal City town marshal.


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