"You're a mighty sassy fellow," scowled young Mosher.
"I'm very disobliging sometimes," Prescott admitted. "For instance,
Tag, I won't believe that you're half as bad as you try to paint
yourself."
"Bad?" snorted young Mosher, with something of sullen pride in
his voice. "I'm about as mean as they make them. You know what
they say I did to that farmer?"
"Well, did you?" challenged Prescott.
"I'm not saying," came the gruff answer. "For one thing, it wouldn't
do me a bit of good to deny it. When a fellow has a bad name
everywhere any judge and jury will hang him. Now, I happen to
object to being hanged, or even to being locked up for perhaps
twenty or thirty years. Queer in me, isn't it?"
"What you ought to do," pursued Dick, "and what you will do, if
you are brave and manly, is to drop that gun, face about, and
march yourself back to jail."
"And be locked up some more?" quivered Tag in excitement.
"If you're guilty of assaulting Mr. Leigh, you should be also
brave and manly enough to walk back to jail, ready to pay the
price of your act like a man. If you're not guilty, then you
should be man enough to face the world and prove your innocence
like a real man. Don't be a cowardly sneak, Tag!"
"A coward?" blurted the other angrily.
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