"Jest to look ba-ad," sneered Brigham, "and throw a big scare into strangers. _I_ ain't got no six-shooter, and he don't run it over me, does he? He's afraid to shoot, that's what's the matter--he knows very well the Rangers would be on his neck before he could cross the line. Don't you let these Texicans buffalo you, boy--the only time they're dangerous is when they're on a drunk." "Then you mean," began Bowles hopefully, "if I'd struck him this morning he wouldn't have used his gun?" "Well," admitted Brig, "he might've drawed it--and if you'd whipped him he might've taken a shot at you. But you got a gun too, ain't you?" "Ye-es," acknowledged Bowles; "but I don't want to kill a man. I wouldn't like to shoot him with it." "Well, then, for Gawd's sake, _take it off_!" roared Brigham. "If he'd shot you this mornin' he could a got off fer self-defense! Turn it over to the boss and tell him you don't want no trouble--then if Hardy shoots you he'll swing fer it!" "But how about me?" queried Bowles. "You're twice as likely to git shot anyway," persisted Brig, "with a gun on you. If you got to pack a gun, leave it in yore bed, where you can git it if you want it; but if the other feller sees you're heeled, and he's got a gun, it makes him nervous, and if you make a sudden move he plugs you. But if you ain't armed he don't dare to--they're awful strict out here, and these Rangers are the limit. Hardy won't shoot--you ain't afraid of 'im, are you?" "No-o," said Bowles; "not if he'd fight fair." "D'ye think you could whip 'im?" demanded Brigham eagerly. "I can try," responded Bowles grimly. "That's the talk!" cheered Brigham, leaning over to whack him on the back. "Stand up to 'im! He's nothin' but a big bluff!" "I don't know about that," grumbled Bowles, with the affair of the morning still fresh in mind; "I'm afraid he'll hit me with his gun." "Well, here, we'll fix that," said Brig, hastily stripping the heavy quirt from his wrist. "You turn yore pistol over to the boss and take this loaded quirt--then if Hardy offers to club you with his gun you knock his eye out with _this_!" He made a vicious pass into the air with the bludgeon-like handle, holding the quirt by the lash, and passed it over to Bowles. "Now you're heeled!" he said approvingly. "That's worse'n a gun, any time, and you kin hit 'im as hard as you please. Jest hang that on yore wrist, where it'll be handy, and turn that cussed six-shooter in." The matter was still a little mixed in Bowles' mind, and he felt that he was treading upon new and dangerous ground, but his evil passions were still afoot and he longed gloomily for his revenge. So when they got into camp that evening he went over to Henry Lee's tent, with Brigham to act as his witness. "Mr. Lee," he said, speaking according to instructions, "I've had a little difficulty with one of the boys, and I'd like to turn in my gun. I don't want to have any trouble."