They'll see that it's a square deal.

You're a sneaking polecat, Warden; but you--I'm going to give you----" Lawler paused; he sagged.

He tried to straighten, failed.

And while both men watched him--Shorty with eyes that were terrible in their ineffable sympathy and impotent wrath; Warden in a paralysis of cold terror--Lawler lurched heavily against the desk and slid gently to the floor, where he leaned, his eyes closed, against the desk, motionless, unconscious.
Silently, his eyes aflame with passion, Shorty leaped to the desk and snatched the gun that Lawler had placed at Warden's hand.

With almost the same movement he pulled Warden out of his chair and threw him against the rear wall of the room.