California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
I confessed I was aghast, and completely at a loss. A row was evidently
unavoidable, and the odds were against us. Almost at the instant the
door came open, Johnny, without waiting for hostile demonstration,
jerked his Colt's revolvers from their holsters. With one bound he
reached the centre of the room, and thrust the muzzles beneath the
bully's nose. His black eyes were snapping.
"Shut up, you hound!" he said in a low, even voice. "I wouldn't
condescend to make money out of your miserable carcass, except at a glue
factory. And if you or your friends so much as wink an eyelid, I'll put
you in shape for it."
Caught absolutely by surprise, the "Hound" stared fascinated into the
pistol barrels, his jaw dropped, his face redder than ever, his eyes
ridiculously protruding. I had recovered my wits and had backed against
the bulletin board, a revolver in either hand, keeping an eye on the
general company. Those who had burst in with the bully had stopped
frozen in their tracks. The others were interested, but not particularly
excited.
"I'm going to stay in this camp," Johnny advised crisply, "and I'm not
going to be bothered by big bluffs like you. I warn you, and all like
you, to let me alone and keep away from me. You stay in camp, or you can
leave camp, just as you please, but I warn you that I shoot you next
time I lay eyes on you. Now, about face! March!"
Johnny's voice had an edge of steel. The big man obeyed orders
implicitly. He turned slowly, and sneaked out the door. His followers
shambled toward the bar. Johnny passed them rather contemptuously under
the review of his snapping eyes, and they shambled a trifle faster.
Then, with elaborate nonchalance, we sauntered out.
"My Lord, Johnny!" I cried when we had reached the street, "that was
fine! I didn't know you had it in you!"
"Damn the luck!" he cried, kicking a tin can. "Oh, _damn_!"
He muttered to himself a moment, then turned to me with humorous
despair.
"What a stupid, useless mess!" he cried. "The minute that fellow came
into the room I saw we were let in for a row; so I went at it quick
before he had got organized. He didn't expect that. He thought he'd have
to work us into it."
"It certainly got him," said I.
"But it just starts us all wrong here," complained Johnny. "We are
marked men."
"We'll just have to look out for him a little. I don't believe he's
really dangerous. He looks to me a lot like a bluffer."
"Oh, him!" said Johnny contemputously, "he doesn't worry me any. It's
all the rest of them. I've practically challenged all the hard cases in
camp, don't you see? I'm no longer an inconspicuous newcomer. Every
tough character with any real nerve will want to tackle me now, just to
try me out."
From the impulsive and unanalytical Johnny this was surprising enough,
and my face must have showed it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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