Ef you don't jail
'im, Bale Warlick, you'll never hold office in Cohutta Valley agin."
The sheriff stepped up to Wambush.
"Drap that knife!" he ordered. "Drap it!"
"Go to h----!" Toot ceased his struggling and glared defiantly into the
face of the sheriff.
"Drap that knife!" The sheriff was becoming angered. He grasped
Wambush's hand and tried to take the knife away, but Toot's fingers
were like coils of wire.
"I'll see you damned fust!" grunted Wambush, and, powerless to do
anything else, he spat in the sheriff's face.
"d----n you, I'll kill you!" roared Warlick, and he struck Wambush on the
jaw. Wambush tried to kick him in the stomach, but Bradley prevented
it by jerking him backward. It now became a struggle between three men
and one, and that one really seemed equal in strength to the other
three.
"Drap the knife!" yelled Warlick again, and he drew a big revolver, and
with the butt of it began to hammer Toot's clinched fingers. As he did
this, Bradley and Hillhouse drew Wambush backward and down to the
ground.
"I'll pay you for this, Bale Warlick," he groaned in pain, but he still
held to the knife.
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