"Halt!" ordered Tag.
"I was going to stop, anyway," smiled Dick. "Now, put your hands up!"
"Why?"
"Because I'm boss here!" remarked Tag.
"I didn't know that you were boss of anything," Dick replied,
still smiling.
"I'm telling you," declared Mosher. "Want me to make good?"
"I wish you'd make something of yourself, instead," rejoined Prescott
in a voice of intense earnestness.
"Get your hands up!" ordered Tag, with a decided increase in
emphasis.
"That's a silly demand on your part," Dick retorted calmly. "Why
should you want my hands up? I'm not armed, and am in no position
to attack you. Are you such a coward, Mosher, that you're afraid
of an unarmed fellow that you could thrash even if you were unarmed?
I can't bring myself to believe that of you.
"You've a mighty fine opinion of me, haven't you?" jeered Tag.
"I'd like to have a fine opinion of you," Prescott declared.
"Oh! And what must I do to win that fine opinion?" demanded Tag
mockingly.
"If you want to know, I'll tell you," Dick continued. "Just put
down that gun and step away from it."
"And then you'll pounce on it and hold me up!" jeered Tag. "Fine!"
"You get away from your weapon," Prescott urged, "and I'll give
you my word of honor not to touch it without your leave.
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