"Help me to drive this pair of traitors out of your company." Like a flash Bodson's revolver was in his band.

The muzzle covered the gambler.
"Jim Duff, down on your knees before I blow your bead off!" The gambler started back, his face paling.
In the same instant Jeff Moore had also drawn his revolver, and held it ready for the first hostile sign from anyone in the group.
"What's the matter with you, Rafe ?" demanded the gambler, in a half-coaxing tone.
"Nothing," Bodson assured him calmly, "except that I'm going to blow your head off if you aren't down on your knees before I've counted three! One--two--th--" Duff dropped to his knees, holding his hands high in air.
"Now apologize for calling us traitors," admonished Rafe.

"Do it handsomely, too, while you're about it." "Rafe," protested Jim Duff, "you, know that I said what I did only because I was angry.

I know you're a gentleman, and you know that I know it.

If I've hurt your feelings, I'm sorry, a thousand times over." "Jim, you're a good deal of a sneak, aren't you ?" inquired Rafe, in a voice that sounded pleasant enough, but which carried a warning in its tone.
"Yes," Duff admitted.