The Colt flicked into his hand and lay trembling in his palm, and as he talked, it shifted smoothly, as if of its own volition, forward toward his fingertips, backward, to the side, dropping out until it seemed about to fall, only to be caught with one finger through the trigger-guard and spun up again. Always the heavy weapon was in motion as though some of the nervous spirit of Reeve had entered the heavy metal. It responded to his thoughts rather than to his muscles. Bull Hunter gazed enchanted. He was accustomed to forgetting himself and admiring others. "Look here!" went on the little man. "Look at me. I weigh about a hundred and twenty. I'm skinny. I'm a runt. And look at you. You weigh--heaven knows what! No fat, but all muscle from your head to your feet. You're the strongest man that I've ever seen. Take me, I'm not a coward; but you, Bull, you don't know what fear means. Well, there you are, without fear, and stronger than three strong men. You're pretty fast with a gun, and you shoot straight as a hawk looks. And still, if we stood face to face and went for our guns, I'd live; and you with your muscle would be dead, Bull." "I know," Bull nodded. "That's what this gun means," cried Pete. "This gun, and the fact that I can get it out of the leather faster'n you do. Not very much faster. But by just as much quicker as it takes for an eyelid to wink. That ain't much time, but it's enough time to mean life or death! That's all! I'm not the only man that's faster'n you are. They's others. I've never been beat to the draw, but they's some that's shot so close to me that it sounded like one gun going off--with a sort of a stammer. And any one of those men would of shot you dead, Bull, if you'd fought 'em. Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing?" "I'll keep tryin', Pete. But I'll never get much faster. You see, my arm--it's too big, too heavy. It gets in my way, handling a little thing like a revolver!" Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster so incredibly fast that the steel hissed against the leather. "There you go running yourself down," he muttered. He began to pace the room again, biting his nether lip, and now and then shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partly scornful. Presently he came to a halt. He had also come to a new resolution, one that cost him so much that beads of perspiration came out on his forehead. "Bull," he said gravely, "I'm going to tell you the secret." "You've told me a dozen already," Bull sighed. "You've taught me how to swing the muzzle up, and not too far up, and how to lean back instead of forward, and how to harden the arm muscles just as I pull the trigger, and how to squeeze with the whole hand and keep my wrist stiff, and how--" "None of them things counts," said Pete gravely, almost sadly, "compared to what I'm going to tell you. Stand up!"