"Naw!"

"Knife?"

He drew a long-bladed penknife from his pocket, and tossed it at
Rome's feet.

"Jes' move over thar, will ye?"

The Lewallen took his stand against the cliff. Rome picked up the
fallen rifle and leaned it against the ledge.

"Now, Jas Lewallen, thar's nobody left in this leetle trouble 'cept
you 'n' me, 'n' ef one of us was dead, I reckon t'other could live
hyeh, 'n' thar'd be peace in these mount'ins. I thought o' that when I
had ye at the eend o' this Winchester. I reckon you would 'a' shot
me dead ef I had poked my head over a rock as keerless as you."
That is just what he would have done, and Jasper did not answer.
"I've swore to kill ye, too," added Rome, tapping his gun; "I've got
a cross fer ye hyeh."

The Lewallen was no coward. Outcry or resistance was useless.
The Stetson meant to taunt him, to make death more bitter; for
Jasper expected death, and he sullenly waited for it against the
cliff.

"You've been banterin me a long time now, 'lowin' as how ye air
the better man o' the two; n' I've got a notion o' givin' ye a chance
to prove yer tall talk. Hit's not our way to kill a man in cold blood,