"In the first place, my friend hasn't even opened his mouth.

As for myself, when I _do_ try to get fresh with you, you won't have to do any guessing.

You'll be sure of it." Bad Pete took a step forward, dropping his right hand, as though unconsciously, to the butt of the revolver in the holster.

He fixed his burning gaze savagely on the boy's face as he muttered, in a low, ugly voice: "Tenderfoot, when I'm around after this you shut your mouth and keep it shut! You needn't take the trouble to call me Peter again, either.

My name is Bad Pete, and I am bad.