Білий ікол
The Clinging Death
Theotherreachedintotheholsterathiship,drewhisrevolver,andtriedtothrustitsmuzzlebetweenthebull-dog’sjaws. Heshoved,andshovedhard,tillthegratingofthesteelagainstthelockedteethcouldbedistinctlyheard. Bothmenwereontheirknees,bendingoverthedogs. TimKeenanstrodeintothering. HepausedbesideScottandtouchedhimontheshoulder,sayingominously:
"Don’tbreakthemteeth,stranger."
"ThenI’llbreakhisneck,"Scottretorted,continuinghisshovingandwedgingwiththerevolvermuzzle.
"Isaiddon’tbreakthemteeth,"thefaro-dealerrepeatedmoreominouslythanbefore.
Butifitwasabluffheintended,itdidnotwork. Scottneverdesistedfromhisefforts,thoughhelookedupcoollyandasked:
"Yourdog?"
Thefaro-dealergrunted.
"Thengetinhereandbreakthisgrip."
"Well,stranger,"theotherdrawledirritatingly,"Idon’tmindtellingyouthat’ssomethingIain’tworkedoutformyself. Idon’tknowhowtoturnthetrick."
"Thengetoutoftheway,"wasthereply,"anddon’tbotherme.I’mbusy."
TimKeenancontinuedstandingoverhim,butScotttooknofurthernoticeofhispresence. Hehadmanagedtogetthemuzzleinbetweenthejawsononeside,andwastryingtogetitoutbetweenthejawsontheotherside.
