"Yo're a liar!" roared the lanky one, and reached for his gun. Archer fell over backwards. Laguerre thrust his chair to one side and leaped the other way. No one saw Loudon's arm move. Yet, when the lanky man's fingers closed on the butt of his gun, Loudon's six-shooter was in his hand. The lanky man's six-shooter was half drawn when Loudon's gun spat flame and smoke. The lanky's one's fingers slipped their grip, and his arm jerked backward. Lips writhing with pain, for his right elbow was smashed to bits, the lanky man thrust his left hand under his vest. "Don't," cautioned Loudon. The lanky man's hand came slowly away--empty. White as chalk, his left hand clenched round the biceps of his wounded arm, the lanky man swayed to his feet and staggered into the street. Archer arose awkwardly. His expression was so utterly nonplussed that it would have been laughable had not the situation been so tragic. A thread of gray smoke spiraled upward from the muzzle of Loudon's slanting six-shooter. Laguerre, balanced on his toes, watched the doorway. Loudon stared at Archer. The latter moved from behind the table and halted. He removed his hat and scratched his head, his eyes on the trail of red blots leading to the door. "----!" exclaimed Archer, suddenly, raising his head. "This here kind o' puts a crimp in our game, don't it?" "That depends on how bad yuh want to play," retorted Loudon. "I'm ready--I'm always ready to learn new tricks." "I don't just feel like poker now," hedged Archer, ignoring the insult. "I reckon I'll see yuh later maybe." "Don't strain yoreself reckonin'," advised Loudon. "I won't. So long, gents." With an airy wave of his head Bill Archer left the barroom. Inch by inch the head of the bartender uprose from behind the breastwork of the bar. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun rose with the head. When Loudon holstered his six-shooter the bartender replaced the sawed-off shotgun on the hooks behind the bar. "Well, sir, gents," remarked the bartender with an audible sigh of relief, "which I'm never so glad in my life when Skinny Maxson don't pull that derringer. She's a .41 that derringer is, the bar's right in the line o' fire--it ain't none too thick--an' Skinny always shoots wide with a derringer. Gents, the drinks are on the house. What'll yuh have?" "Yo're a Christian," grinned Loudon. "Is Skinny Maxson anythin' special 'round here?"