The latter obeyed with alacrity, and stooping he picked up the fallen
gun. He had an inkling of what was coming.

"Ah-hh!" Slavin gloated gutterally, as he whirled his victim giddily
around and brought the man up facing him with a violent jerk--"Windy
Moran, avick!"--softly and cruelly--"me wud-be cock av a wan-harse
dump!--me wud-be 'bad-man'! . . . Oh, yes! 'tis both shockin' an' brutil
tu misthreat ye I know but--surely, surely yeh desarve somethin' for all
this!" And he drew back his formidable right arm.

Smack! The terrific impact of that one, terrible open-handed slap nearly
knocked his victim through the bar-room wall. The head rocked sideways
and the big body turned completely round. Eyes rushing water and one
profile now resembling a slab of bloodied liver, the man reeled about in
a circle as if bereft of sight.

"Oh-hh!--Ooh!--No-o!--Ah-hh!" The wild, moaning cry for quarter came
gaspingly out of puffed, blood-foamed lips. But there was no mercy in
Slavin. He looked round at the wrecked bar, the glass-slashed bleeding
faces of his men and the rest of the saloon's occupants. He thought upon
many things--how near ignoble death many of them had been but a few
minutes before--upon insult and threat flaunted at them by a drunken,
ruffling braggadocio!--and he jerked the latter to him once more.

But his two subordinates jumped forward and made violent protest.
"Steady!" It was Yorke now who appealed for leniency--"Go easy, Burke!
for God's sake! You've handed him one good swipe--if he get's another
like that he'll be all in--won't be able to talk. Let it go at that!"