"You're my prisoner, do you understand?
You'll do as I say." Marcus had drawn the handcuffs from his pocket, and stood ready with his revolver held as a club.

"You soldiered me out of that money once, and played me for a sucker, an' it's my turn now.

Don't you lay your finger on that sack." Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with passion.

McTeague did not answer.

His eyes drew to two fine, twinkling points, and his enormous hands knotted themselves into fists, hard as wooden mallets.