Indian Jake's small hawk eyes were narrowing. He made no answer, but
slipped his right hand forward toward the trigger of his rifle, though
the barrel of the rifle still rested in the hollow of his left arm.

"Drop un!" Eli commanded, observing the movement. "Drop that gun on
the ground!"

Indian Jake stood like a statue, eyeing Eli, but he made no movement.

"I said drop un!" Eli's voice was cold and hard as steel. He was in
deadly earnest. "If you tries to raise un or don't drop un before I
count ten I'll put a bullet in your heart!"

Indian Jake might have been of chiselled stone. He did not move a
muscle or wink an eye-lash but his small eyes were centred on every
motion Eli made. He still held his rifle, the barrel resting in the
hollow of his left arm, his right hand clutching the stock behind the
hammer, his finger an inch from the trigger.

For an instant there was a death-like silence. Then Eli began to
count:

"One--two--three--four--"

The words fell like strokes of a hammer upon an anvil. Eli intended
to shoot. He was a man of his word. He made no threat that he was not
prepared to execute, and Indian Jake knew that Eli would shoot on the
count of ten.

"Five--six--seven--eight--"