And then Mr. Raynor ceases from pawing at the latch and spins round and plasters himself flat against the door-panels like he was pinned there, with his arms stretched wide and his fingers clawing at the wood-work. And here, in through the curtains of the library door comes Mr. Dallas, that's all, stepping light on the balls of his feet, with his eyes blazing and his hair all mussed-up, and down at his right side, it swinging loose and free, he's carrying that three-pound chunk of Snake-Eye Jamison's shootlery. I don't know whether it's the excitement, or the spell of the play-acting on him, or the righteous mad which is in him, but he looks so perilous I'm mighty near scared of him my own self. And even though he ain't never toted no pistol before in his life he's handling this here big blue borrowed smoke-wagon like he'd cut his milk-teeth on one. And I'm mighty glad she ain't loaded, neither; else he might start living up to the reputation I've done endowed him with. That's all, but that's plenty! As Mr. H. C. Raynor's knees begins giving way under him he starts in to pleading at the top of his voice. You could a-heard him plumb down in the street I reckon. "For God's sake," he begs, "don't shoot! For God's sake, don't shoot yet! Give me a minute--give me time to explain! I'll do anything you say, Pulliam--we can square this thing! Only, for God's sake, don't shoot!" By the time he's got this much out of him he's setting down flat against the door, with his legs stretched out straight in front of him and his feet kind of dancing on the floor so that his heels makes little knocking sounds. He looks like he's fixing to faint away. Maybe he did faint, but if he did, I know the faintfulness didn't get no higher up than his throat, because the last thing I heard as I went on out from there through the library, was him still babbling away. Up till the time I left, Mr. Dallas hadn't spoke nary word--just stood there wagging that there chunk of hardware in the general direction of Mr. Raynor and licking at his lips with his tongue, sort of eager-like. Well, thus far, it hadn't been necessary for him to say nothing--Mr. Raynor was doing enough talking for any number you might care to name, up to half a dozen. FOOTNOTE: [4] Note.--The word is believed to be one of Jeff's own coinage. It is left as written. Its meaning may be doubtful but who will deny that it is a good word? CHAPTER XX _Piebald Joys_