be empty, in which case I would have looked like a fool and been killed sure. I found out later that it was not only loaded but had a cartridge in the barrel” (he meant he would not have had to work the lever to throw one in the barrel). “Still, as things turned out, it was just as well I did not get hold of it. While I was debating what to do, Jack was getting himself all worked up to the shooting point, and the madder he got the nearer he came to me, cursing all the time like a trooper. I was expecting him to shoot any minute, when he stepped too close and I saw my chance. I made a quick grab for the gun, and, as luck would have it, my hand slid down the barrel and the hammer fell on the fork here between the thumb and first finger; that was all that saved me.” “Well,” I said, as he stopped, “what did you do to him?” "Do to him? why, I didn’t do anything to him; he was a friend of mine, and would never have thought of hurting me if he had been sober." After a few minutes’ thought, he said, "Oh yes I did, too—I kept the gun, and it was a fine Colt’s 45." One day I was telling Harry Carter of what I had seen in the Silver King Saloon in San Antonio. He said, "Well, once I saw a thing like that in Kingston, which at that time was a very small camp, but it turned out different from what you described. Jim and Ben had trouble down in a saloon. Jim said to Ben, ‘I’ve got no show because I’m not heeled.’ 'Don’t let that bother you,' said Ben; ‘come on up to my cabin and I’ll heel you.’ So up they went, and, while Jim stayed outside, Ben went in and brought him out a pistol. They agreed to back off five paces and then empty their guns. But at the very first shot Jim shot Ben square between the eyes with the borrowed gun." Harry Carter left the company last year and went back to California, where he has bought a ranch and is farming, and I have certainly missed him, both as a great help in the business, and as a good fellow out of working hours.