I drew in my breath, every nerve braced for action.

Then I jerked the revolver from my pocket, and held it, glimmering ominously in the light, across my knee.
"You probably have some reason for lying to me," I said coldly, "and now I am going to give you an equally good reason for telling the truth.

What do you know about the administrators of this estate ?" He was breathing hard, his eyes on the shining barrel.
"There is one named Neale, is n't there ?" "I--I reckon so." "How do you know ?" "Wal," feeling it useless to struggle against the argument presented by the blue steel barrel, "Hell, all I know is a fellow com' 'long yere a while back with a paper signed Neale, thinkin' ter take my job." "What happened to him ?" "Oh, he just nat'ally got kicked out inter the road, an' I reckon he 's a running yet.

He was a miserable Yankee runt, an' I did n't hurt the cuss none to speak of.

What yer askin' all this fer enyhow," he questioned anxiously, "an' a drawin' that gun on me ?" "It seemed to be the only available method for extracting information.
Pardon my insistence, Coombs, but was n't that dead man up there the fellow Neale sent ?" "Not by a damn sight," and I could see the perspiration break out on his forehead.