"Phew!" sighed Tex, a grin slowly spreading across his red face. "That was close, that was! Reckon I done saved quite a mess in here." He glared at Tommy. "You get th’ h--l out of here an’ don’t come back till you know how to act! Runnin’ around like a mad dog, tryin’ to kill men that never done you no harm! G’wan, or I’ll let Hennery loose at you! I heard what you said, an’ I wouldn’t blame him if he blowed you wide open! G’wan! Shove that gun back where it belongs, an’ git: _Pronto_! You’ve gone an’ got Bud an’ me bad friends, I reckon, an’ I can’t hardly blame him, neither." Henry’s eyes were riveted on the menacing Colt, his hand frozen where it had stopped, a few inches above the butt of his own. Bud Haines leaned forward, balanced on the balls of his feet, but not daring to leap. The spectators were staring, open-mouthed, quite content to let things take their course without any impetus from them. Tommy sullenly slid the gun back into its holster and walked toward the door, too angry to speak. Glaring at Tex he went out, mounted and rode toward the ranch; and it was half an hour later before he came to the realization that his life had been saved from a shot from the side, and by the time he had reached the ranchhouse he was grinning. Tex flipped the captured gun into the air, caught it by the barrel, and tossed it, butt first, to the killer. "I shore am apologizin’ to you, Bud," he said, "for cuttin’ in that way--but I had to act sudden, an’ rough." As the weapon settled into its owner’s hand it roared and leaped, the bullet cutting Tex’s vest under the armpit. Before a second shot could follow from it Bud twisted sidewise and plunged face down on the floor. Tensed like a panther about to spring, Tex peered through the thinning cloud of smoke rising from his hip, his attention on the others in the room. "Sorry," he said. "You saw it all. I gave him his gun, butt first, an’ he shot at me with it. Clipped my vest under my left shoulder. I couldn’t do nothin’ else. I’m sayin’ that doin’ favors for strangers is risky business--but is anybody findin’ any fault with this shootin’?" He glanced quickly from face to face and then nodded slightly. "It was plain self-defense. If I’d ’a’ thought he was a-goin’ to shoot I shore wouldn’t ’a’ chucked him his loaded gun. Reckon I’m a plain d--d fool!" There were no replies to him. The tense faces stared at the man who had killed Bud Haines in a fight after the killer had shot first. While there were no accusations in their expressions, neither was there any friendliness. The killing had been justified. This seemed to be the collective opinion, for in no way could the facts be changed. Bud had been man-handled in a manner which to him had been an unbearable insult, the fight could be considered as of his adversary’s starting, but the actual shooting was as the victor claimed; and it was the shooting which they were to judge.