struck up; the pistol went flying through the air. I took him by the waist; lifted him off his feet; held him tight; and shook him. If you have the trick of it, it is surprising how quickly you can shake the breath clean out of a man's body, or, if you wish to go so far, by shaking him you can break his back, and make an end. My desires were less extensive. I shook him till I had him quiet; then I lowered him till his face was on a level with mine.
"Now, Dr. Hume, please tell me why I shouldn't kill you?"
He could but gasp, and that with pain.
"You can—kill me—if you like. You killed him. Killing's—your line."
"And what's your line? Sneaking, like a thief, into a man's room, and prying into his possessions like some dirty nigger? However, since you are here, we'll come to an understanding, you and I, before you go."
I dropped him on to the floor, where he lay like a log, struggling to get back some of his breath. I picked up his revolver. It was a natty little thing, though not of the kind one carries where a gun is one of the chief necessities of existence. There a gun, to be worth anything, should send a bullet through an inch board at the distance of a dozen yards; it was all his would do to send a bullet through the skin
