"Bull, I went through the prohibition. You either got tha good shit, or ya got tha shit that was liable ta kill ya. Either way, I bet I can out drink you."

Marshal, never challenge an Irishman to a drinking contest.

He leaned down and rested one hand on Givens's thigh, making their eyes almost level. "You don't have anything left ta shoot me with. And you ain't tha only sharpshooter in tha room besides."

He pushed off and stood back to his height. "Now, stop sayin' stupid shite before I change my mind and just get rid of ya."