"I can't pull the trigger," said Sam indistinctly, his face convulsed as in sympathy with the great muscular efforts of other parts of his body. "She won't pull!"
"She won't?" Penrod remarked with scorn. "I'll bet _I_ could pull her."
Sam promptly opened his eyes and handed the weapon to Penrod.
"All right," he said, with surprising and unusual mildness. "You try her, then."
Inwardly discomfited to a disagreeable extent, Penrod attempted to talk his own misgivings out of countenance.
"Poor 'ittle baby!" he said, swinging the pistol at his side with a fair pretense of careless ease. "Ain't even strong enough to pull a trigger! Poor 'ittle baby! Well, if you can't even do that much, you better watch me while _I_--"
"Well," said Sam reasonably, "why don't you go on and do it then?"
"Well, I AM goin' to, ain't I?"
"Well, then, why don't you?"
"Oh, I'll do it fast enough to suit YOU, I guess," Penrod retorted, swinging the big revolver up a little higher than his shoulder and pointing it in the direction of the double doors, which opened upon the alley. "You better run, Sam," he jeered.
"You'll be pretty scared when I shoot her off, I guess."
"Well, why don't you SEE if I will? I bet you're afraid yourself."
"Oh, I am, am I?" said Penrod, in a reckless voice--and his finger touched the trigger. It seemed to him that his finger no more than touched it; perhaps he had been reassured by Sam's assertion that the trigger was difficult. His intentions must remain in doubt, and probably Penrod himself was not certain of them; but one thing comes to the surface as entirely definite--that trigger was not so hard to pull as Sam said it was.