"I calls that kind," he laughed. "There _wasn't_ no use of lettin' good weapons like them be lost. I can use 'em all--an' just for that I'm goin' to end yore misery like I said I might. First," he said, going over to the nearest Colt and picking it up, "I'm goin' to load this gun an' do somethin' for my hoss an' that cow." He walked unsteadily toward the edge of the sands, pulling half a dozen cartridges from his belt as he advanced. Reaching the danger zone, he tried each step before putting his weight into it and slowly advanced to the last tuft of grass, where he stood, swaying slightly as it moved gently under his weight. The sand at its outer edges moved a little and changed color as the water flooded and receded in it. "Reckon this is th' jumpin' off place," he said. "You'd be plumb tickled if I fell in, wouldn't you?" he jeered. "Well, I ain't aimin' to. I'm figgerin' on loadin' this gun--_this_ way: Number One," he said, sliding a cartridge into the cylinder, "is for my hoss; Number Two is for th' cow; Number Three is for a hole through yore hat; _this_ one is for yore hoss when only its head is out, or as soon as you jump off. I'm givin' you that chance to help it--an' to save my valuable time; these two are for yore head when yore chin gets under. One'll be enough, but two will be dead shore--I might miss th' first to hear you cuss." Lang raised the Colt and put his horse out of its misery; then he did the same for the cow. "That's what I call fair shootin'," he said. "Of course, you might 'a' done it faster--but I'm in no hurry. Now, this next shot has got to be dead shore if I put it high enough in yore hat to miss yore head--an' I ain't aimin' to hit that _yet_. So if I takes plenty of time, don't you get jumpy." He raised the gun above his head to increase the torment and there was a flash and roar at Johnny's hip. The Triangle puncher's hand opened and the gun dropped behind him as a look of great surprise flashed to his face, and remained there. Twisting sideways, he fell face down, sprawled full length upon the greedy sands. "There, d--n you!" gritted Johnny. "Th' show's over, for _you_!" He brought the gun back on its mark, but did not release the hammer again. There was no doubt, this time, about Lang. He let the hammer down on an empty chamber and slid the weapon back in his holster. Reassuring Pepper, he glanced down and saw that her legs were being pulled to the sides, which sprawled them out. "Slow," he said, and looked again to make sure. "Mighty slow. This stuff is different in places--but d--d sure," he added bitterly. "You take it easy, Pepper Girl. I won't let it last much longer--'though it's goin' to take a lot of nerve. Good little hoss--good little Pepper Girl."