"
"Your word of honor?" asked Tag, driven to wonder despite himself.
"What good would your word of honor be?"
"It would be as good as anything I'm capable of," Prescott responded.
"Tag, didn't you ever have any respect for a man's word of honor?
Didn't you ever respect your own?"
"I got that game played on me at school, once," leered Mosher.
"As soon as I swallowed the bait the other fellow kicked me in
the shins and ran off and left me there. Now, Prescott, I don't
want any more nonsense. Put up your hands!"
"I've already declined," Dick smiled calmly. "To that refusal
I'll add my thanks."
"Put up your hands, or I'll keep the gun turned on you and pull
a trigger or two."
"Then the gun isn't loaded," chuckled Dick.
"Oh, isn't it?"
"No, for you're not bad enough, Tag, to shoot down an unarmed
person who isn't your enemy."
"You'll tell the officers you saw me here, won't you?"
"Certainly."
"Then you're my enemy," young Mosher argued, with thorough conviction.
"So you'll put up your hands, and take further orders, as long
as I give 'em, or you'll be found taking a long nap on the grass
here!"
"That's another wrong guess you've made, Tag."
Laughing softly, Dick dropped to a seat on the grass.
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