"’That’s open to debate, but for brevity I ’ll say yes; but I want a chance. I gave _you_ a chance every time I came here—you did n’t take it, that’s all.’ "’I ’ll get you a gun, d—d if I won’t,’ I replied, an’ backed towards th’ valise where my big old Colt was. But he stops me with a sneer. "’I said a _chance_! You was _born_ with a gun in your hand, an’ it ’d be pure murder.’ "’I ’m glad somethin ’s pure,’ says I. Then I remembered that old valise again. Remember th’ last thing I did for you an’ Peters before I quit, Hoppy?" Hopalong thought quickly. "Yes, you an’ Pete put in two days settin’ poisoned cows in th’ brush on th’ west line. Did a good job, too. Ain’t been bothered none by wolves since." Tex chuckled. "There was a bottle of yore stuff in that war-bag an’ it was half full. I don’t remember puttin’ it there, but there she was. So I takes it an’ holds it up for him to look at, readin’ th’ label out loud. That was th’ only time my wife says a word, an’ she says _his_ name, sorrowful; then she goes on lookin’ from him to me an’ from me to him. "He laughs at me an’ sneers again. ’Think I ’m go in’ to eat that?’ he says. "I don’t answer. I ’m too busy workin’ with one hand an’ watchin’ him. I knowed he did n’t have no gun, but there was chairs an’ bottles a-plenty. I got down a bottle of bitters an’ poured some of it in a couple of glasses. Then I drops in some pain-killer an’ stirs it up. It does n’t mix very well, so I pushed th’ remains of their supper to one side an’ slips th’ two glasses under th’ table cloth, holdin’ one edge of it in my teeth so it would n’t touch th’ glasses an’ let him follow ’em. If they ’d been cards I ’d ’a’ spread ’em monte-fashion under his nose—but they was n’t. "’Now, you skunk—take your pick an’ don’t wrangle no more about yore chances. An’ you drink it before I drink mine, or I ’ll blow yore cussed ribs loose!’ "I had given him credit for havin’ a-plenty nerve, but now I sees it was n’t nerve at all—just gall. He was pasty white again, almost green, an’ his little soul plumb tried to climb out of his eyes. I was a whole lot surprised at how he went to pieces an’ I was savagely elated at th’ way he was a-starin’ at that cloth. He looks at me for an instant and then back at th’ little shell game on th’ table’ an’ he says in a weak, thin voice: ’How ’d I know—you ’ll drink—yourn?’ "’You ain’t supposed to be knowin’ anythin’ about my habits while I ’ve got this gun—an’ it’s gettin’ plumb heavy, too,’ I retorts. ’You ’ve been yellin’ about an even break, an’ there it is. An’ if it ’ll hurry things any I ’ll pick up my glass now an’ drink it as soon as I see yore glass empty, an’ yore Adam’s apple bob enough. We won’t have to wait very long before we get results. You ’ll pick yore glass an’ drain it or you ’ll stop lead.’ An’ I did n’t care, Hoppy, which one he got—I was worse’n dead then—what th’ h—l did I care about livin’?