"McTee, if I promised you that I'd perjure blacker 'n hell an' kill you someday when your back was turned.

As it is, I'll kill you while we're standin' face to face." McTee laughed, low, deep, and his eyes were half closed as if he heard pleasant music.

Harrigan grinned up at him.
"I'll kill you with my bare hands.

There's no gun or knife could do justice to what's inside of me." His head tilted back and his whisper went thick like that of a drunkard: "Ah-h, McTee, look at the hands, look at the hands! They're red now for a sign av the blood av ye that'll someday be on 'em!" And he picked up his bucket and brush and went down the deck.

The laugh of McTee followed him.
Having framed the wish in words, it was never absent from Harrigan's mind now.