Gibbs addressed his victim, “Now, dolly, you an’ me’s goin’ t’ play a little. Come on, let’s see you dance.” The other struggled feebly a moment and attempted to draw a pistol, whereupon Wash promptly captured the weapon, remarking in a sad tone as he did so, “You hadn’t ought t’ tote such a gun as that, sonny; hit might go off. Hit’s a right pretty little thing, ain’t hit?” he continued, holding his victim with one hand, and examining the pearl handled, nickel plated weapon with great interest. “Hit sure is. But say, dolly, if you was ever t’ shoot me with that there, an’ I found hit out, I’d sure be powerful mad. You hear me, now, an’ don’t you pack that gun no more; not in these mountains. Hit ain’t safe.” The fellow in the wagon roared with delight at these witticisms, and looked from Young Matt to Sammy to see if they also appreciated the joke. “Got any more pretties!” asked Gibbs of his victim. “No? Let’s see.” Catching the young man by the waist, he lifted him bodily, and, holding him head downward, shook him roughly. Again Sammy felt her blood tingle at the feat of strength. Next holding Ollie with one huge hand at the back of his neck, Wash said, “See that feller in th’ wagon there? He’s a mighty fine gentleman; friend o’ mine. Make a bow t’ him.” As he finished, with his free hand he struck the young man a sharp blow in the stomach, with the result that Stewart did make a bow, very low, but rather too suddenly to be graceful. The fellow in the wagon jumped up and bowed again and again; “Howdy, Mr. City Man; howdy. Mighty proud t’ meet up with you; mighty proud, you bet!” The giant whirled his captive toward the mill. “See that feller yonder? I’m goin’ t’ lick him some day. Make a face at him.” Catching Ollie by the nose and chin, he tried to force his bidding, while the man in the wagon made the valley ring with his laughter. Then Wash suddenly faced the helpless young man toward Sammy. “Now ladies and gentlemen,” he said in the tones of a showman addressing an audience, “this here pretty little feller from th’ city’s goin’ t’ show us Hill-Billies how t’ spark a gal.” The bully’s friend applauded loudly, roaring at the top of his voice, “Marry ’em, Wash. Marry ’em. You can do hit as good as a parson! You’d make a good parson. Let’s see how’d you go at hit.” The notion tickled the fancy of the giant, for it offered a way to make Sammy share the humiliation more fully. “Git down an’ come here t’ yer honey,” he said to the girl. “Git down, I say,” he repeated, when the young woman made no motion to obey. “Indeed, I will not,” replied Sammy shortly.