Both men started as
recognition lighted their faces and he of the red face found
himself looking down the barrel of a six-shooter.
"Put it up, Byrne," he admonished the other coolly. "I
didn't know you were so good on the draw."
"I'm good on the draw all right, Flannagan," said Billy,
"and I ain't drawin' for amusement neither. I gotta chance to
get away and live straight, and have a little happiness in life,
and, Flannagan, the man who tries to crab my game is goin'
to get himself croaked. I'll never go back to stir alive. See?"
"Yep," said Flannagan, "I see; but I ain't tryin' to crab
your game. I ain't down here after you this trip. Where you
been, anyway, that you don't know the war's over? Why
Coke Sheehan confessed a month ago that it was him that
croaked Schneider, and the governor pardoned you about ten
days ago."
"You stringin' me?" asked Billy, a vicious glint in his eyes.
"On the level," Flannagan assured him. "Wait, I gotta
clippin' from the Trib in my clothes somewheres that gives all
the dope."
He drew some papers from his coat pocket and handed one
to Billy.
"Turn your back and hold up your hands while I read,"
said Byrne, and as Flannagan did as he was bid Billy unfolded
the soiled bit of newspaper and read that which set him
a-trembling with nervous excitement.
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