"He's a friend o' Bill Archer's," replied the bartender, "an' he's got--I mean he had a reputation. I knowed he was lightning on the draw till I seen you--I mean till I didn't see yuh pull yore gun. Mr. Franklin, that was shore the best exhibition o' quick drawin' I ever seen, an' I used to work in Dodge City. Good thing yuh was some swift. Skinny don't shoot a six-gun like he does a derringer. No, not for a minute he don't! But look out for Skinny's brother Luke. He's got a worse temper'n Skinny, an' he's a better shot. This nickin' o' Skinny is a heap likely to make him paint for war. He's out o' town just now." A clatter of running feet was heard in the street. Through the doorway bounded a stocky citizen, blood in his eye, and a shotgun in his hand. "Where's the ---- shot Skinny!" he howled. "Luke!" cried the bartender, and dived beneath the bar. "Stranger, I wouldn't do nothin' rash," observed Loudon, squinting along the barrel of his six-shooter. "Drop that shotgun, an' drop her quick." Loudon's tone was soft, but its menace was not lost on the wild-eyed man. His shotgun thudded on the floor. "By Gar!" exclaimed Laguerre. "Eet ees----" "Shut up!" roared Loudon. "I'm seein' just what yo're seein', but there's no call to blat it out!" For the wild-eyed man was the same individual who had brought the tale of the Hatchet Creek Indian uprising to Farewell. But there was no recognition in the man's eyes, which was not remarkable. Loudon and Laguerre, on that occasion, had been but units in a crowd, and even when they exchanged shots with the fellow the range was too long for features to be noted. Besides, the thick growth of stubble on their faces effectually concealed their identity from any one who did not know them well. "I'd kind o' elevate my hands, Brother Luke," suggested Loudon. "That's right. Yuh look more ornamental thataway. An' don't shake so much. You ain't half as mad as yo're tryin' to make out. If you was real hot you'd 'a' took a chance an' unhooked that shotgun when yuh come in. Brother Luke, yo're a false alarm--like Skinny." "Lemme pick up my shotgun, an' I'll show yuh!" clamoured Luke Maxson, whom the purring voice was driving to a frenzy. "Yuh lost yore best chance, an' chances don't travel in pairs--like brothers." "Do somethin'! Do somethin'!" chattered Luke. "No hurry. Don't get het, Brother Luke. If I was to do somethin' yore valuable an' good-lookin' carcass would be damaged. An' I just ain't got the heart to shoot more than one man a day." Laguerre laughed outright. From behind the bar came the sound of a snicker hastily stifled. "You let me go," yapped Luke Maxson, "an' I'll down yuh first chance I git!" "Good argument against lettin' yuh go." At the window flanking the door appeared the plump face and shoulders of Judge Allison. "Why don't yuh do somethin', ---- yuh?" yelled Luke Maxson. "I'm gettin' tired holdin' my arms up!"