"You lie!" bawled Creagan. His six-shooter covered Anastacio.

"That'll keep. Put up your gun, Bennie," said Anastacio with great
composure. "Supper's most ready. Besides, the Barelas won't like it
if you shoot me this way. There's a lot of the Barelas, Ben. I'll tell
you what I'll do, though--I'll slip the idea to my crowd, and any time
you want to kill me on an even break, no Barela or Ascarate will take
it up. Put it right in your little holster--put it up, I say! That's
right. You see, Breslin? Don't let Foy out of your sight if he should
be taken."

"But he'll never let himself be taken alive," said Vorhis. "Even
if anyone wants to take him--alive. Pass the word to your friends,
Breslin, unless you want them to take part in a deliberate,
foreplanned murder."

"Damn you, what do you mean?" shouted the sheriff.

"By God, sir, I mean just what I say!"

"Why, girls!" said Pringle. "You shock me! This is most unladylike.
This is scandalous talk. Be nice! Please--pretty please! See, here
comes some more pussy-foot posse--three, six, eleven hungry men. Have
they got Foy? No; they have not got Foy. Is he up? He is up. Look
who's here too! Good old Applegate and Brother Espalin. I wonder now
if they're goin' to give me the cut direct, like Creagan did? You
notice, Mr. Breslin."

The horsemen rode into the corral.