“If you wanted to kill me, why haven't you smothered me in my sleep?" "No sport in that." He gestured towards the ceiling. "Can I expect to be strung up on that bar and gutted like a deer?" He looked up at the bar and frowned. "Too much sport. Lots of heave-hoeing. Big mess to clean up after. Instead, why don't you just drink the poison-laced whiskey?" He extended the glass toward him again and when he didn't move he said, "No? Okay then." He shot the drink. He might not want the edge taken off but he sure as hell did.”