Reckon you can remember that message?
But before I let you go to carry it, I guess you might as well hand out the paper they sent you over here with." His prisoner fell into a paroxysm of rage, and struck at him.
"I'll git pap to kill ye," she shrieked.

"I don' know nothin' 'bout yer Six-Cross-Roads, ner no papers, ner yer dam Mister Harkels neither, ner _you_, ye razor-backed ole devil! Pap'll kill ye; leave me go--leave me _go_!--Pap'll kill ye; I'll git him to _kill_ ye!" Suddenly her struggles ceased; her eyes closed; her tense little muscles relaxed and she drooped toward the floor; the old man shifted his grip to support her, and in an instant she twisted out of his hands and sprang out of reach, her eyes shining with triumph and venom.
"Ya-hay, Mister Razor-back!" she shrilled.

"How's that fer hi?
Pap'll kill ye, Sunday.

You'll be screechin' in hell in a week, an' we 'ull set up an' drink our apple-jack an' laff!" Martin pursued her lumberingly, but she was agile as a monkey, and ran dodging up and down the counters and mocked him, singing "Gran' mammy Tipsy-Toe," till at last she tired of the game and darted out of the door, flinging back a hoarse laugh at him as she went.

He followed; but when he reached the street she was a mere shadow flitting under the courthouse trees.