His hands relaxed and fall away from the throat, leaving finger marks there in the flesh.
"Git up off'n him!" a new voice commanded harshly, and Casey obeyed.
His captor shifted the gun muzzle to the back of Casey's neck and poked the gasping, bearded old man with his toe.
"Git up, Paw, you old fool, you! What'd you let 'im light on yuh fer?
Why couldn't you a stood back a piece, outa reach?
You like to got croaked." Casey found it prudent to hold his head rather still, as a man does when he carries a boil on his neck.

The muzzle of a six-shooter has a quieting effect, when applied to the person by an unfriendly hand.
Casey did not at once see the intruder.

But presently "Paw" recovered himself and his shotgun, and swung it menacingly toward Casey.
Whereupon the cold circle left Casey's medulla oblongata and a long-faced, long-legged youth stepped somewhat hastily to one side.
"Paw, you ol' fool, you, get your finger off'n that trigger whilst you're aimin' at me!" he exclaimed pettishly.
"I wa'n't aimin' at you.

I was aimin' at this 'ere--" Casey heard himself called many names, any one of which was good for a fight when Casey was free.
"Aw, you shut up, Paw.

You ain't gittin' nobody nowhere," the son interrupted.