Casey's fingers digging into his throat.

Whether Casey would have killed him or not will never be known.
For just as the man was falling limp in his hands, another heavy
body landed upon Casey's back. Casey felt a hard, chill circle
pressed against his perspiring temple. His hands relaxed and
fall away from the throat, leaving finger marks there in the
flesh.

"Git up off'n him!" a new voice commanded harshly, and Casey
obeyed. His captor shifted the gun muzzle to the back of Casey's
neck and poked the gasping, bearded old man with his toe.

"Git up, Paw, you old fool, you! What'd you let 'im light on yuh
fer? Why couldn't you a stood back a piece, outa reach? You
like to got croaked."

Casey found it prudent to hold his head rather still, as a man
does when he carries a boil on his neck. The muzzle of a
six-shooter has a quieting effect, when applied to the person by
an unfriendly hand. Casey did not at once see the intruder. But
presently "Paw" recovered himself and his shotgun, and swung it
menacingly toward Casey. Whereupon the cold circle left Casey's
medulla oblongata and a long-faced, long-legged youth stepped
somewhat hastily to one side.

"Paw, you ol' fool, you, get your finger off'n that trigger
whilst you're aimin' at me!" he exclaimed pettishly.

"I wa'n't aimin' at you. I was aimin' at this 'ere--" Casey