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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Valley of Fear"


"You don't say!" McGinty held them to the light in his enormous
hand, which was hairy as a gorilla's. "I can see no difference.
Gar! you'll be a mighty useful brother, I'm thinking! We can do
with a bad man or two among us, Friend McMurdo: for there are
times when we have to take our own part. We'd soon be against
the wall if we didn't shove back at those that were pushing us."
"Well, I guess I'll do my share of shoving with the rest of the
boys."
"You seem to have a good nerve. You didn't squirm when I shoved
this gun at you."
"It was not me that was in danger."
"Who then?"
"It was you, Councillor." McMurdo drew a cocked pistol from the
side pocket of his peajacket. "I was covering you all the time.
I guess my shot would have been as quick as yours."
"By Gar!" McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into a
roar of laughter. "Say, we've had no such holy terror come to
hand this many a year. I reckon the lodge will learn to be proud
of you.... Well, what the hell do you want? And can't I speak
alone with a gentleman for five minutes but you must butt in on
us?"
The bartender stood abashed.


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