'"
"Your terms?" sneers Hardin, with a glance at Joe's hand in his
pocket, "Toujours pret" is Joseph's motto.
"Oh, my terms! I'll be open, Jedge. I leave this here lawsuit between
us, to our lawyers. I will fight you fair in that. You will find
me on the square."
"Do you threaten me, sir?" demands Hardin.
"Now, make your own game." Joe's brow darkens. "Hardin, I want
you to hear me out; you can take it then, in any shape you want
to. Fight or trade." Woods' old Missouri grit is aroused.
"Go on," says Hardin, with a rising gorge.
"You're talking marriage." Joe's sneer maddens Hardin." I tell you
now to settle old scores with the lady whom I found in your hands
to-night. If you don't, you're not going to the Senate."
Hardin gathers himself. Ah, that hand in the pocket!
"Don't make a mistake, Jedge," coldly interjects Woods. "Drop that
gun. We're no bravos."
"I positively decline to have any bargain with you on my private
matters. After you leave this room, you can look out for yourself,
if you cross my path," hisses the Judge, his face pale and ghastly.
"Now, Jedge," Joe snaps out, "watch your own scalp. Hardin, I'll
not dodge you. You are going on the wrong road. We split company
here.
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