“Wow! ouch! damn!” howled Serpent Sam, as his revolver flew from his hand. Patsy’s bullet had struck it on the butt. It not only caused Serpent Sam to drop the weapon, but it numbed his fingers. And the bullet did another thing. Glancing from the place where it struck Sam’s revolver, it flew across the room and hit another man on the cartridge belt, doing no harm, but startling that man fearfully. For that matter, all the men were startled. Some of them ran behind the bar and crouched down. Half a dozen of those who had been in the place when the horsemen came ran for the outside door. Serpent Sam, cursing with rage and pain, reached for his other revolver. He could bend his numbed fingers just enough to draw it from his belt, but he could not cock it. While he was trying to do so, it dropped to the floor. The fingers of his right hand would not hold it. Patsy, knowing that he was disabled, was paying no attention to him. He was sweeping his revolver carelessly around the room. “It might go off,” he remarked. “It’s got a hair trigger. Look out!” At that his weapon did go off. One of the men was just getting the drop on him. Patsy’s shot did for him just what had been done for Serpent Sam. It knocked the gun out of his hand and caused him to leap back, cursing with rage. “If you gents enjoy dancing,” said Patsy, coolly, “just recollect that I’m floor manager here. I’ll tell you when it’s your turn—yours, for instance.” With this he let drive at the feet of a man near the edge of the crowd. The bullets splintered the floor at the man’s toe. He jumped for fear, and the detective laughed. “It’s more fun than I thought,” he cried; “we’ll try it again.” He made as if he would empty all his cartridges at the men’s feet, but he had done enough. All except Serpent Sam were making a wild scramble to get behind the bar, out of doors, underneath tables—any place, so as to be out of range. Sam had cooled down very suddenly. “Hold on, stranger,” he called; “we uns know when we’re licked. You’ve done us brown, an’ ef thar’s anything in the house you want, call for it.” Patsy understood the man. His tone and manner showed that he meant what he said. He was rubbing his sore hand and kicking his revolvers so that they would lie where he could pick them up. Of all the men there Sam was the only one who hadn’t shown fear. The detective immediately pocketed his weapon. “All right, pard,” he said, good-naturedly; “there is one thing in the house I want.” “Name it.” “I want every man jack of you to wet up. The drinks are on me, gents. Step lively.” For an instant nobody stirred. They looked at him as if they could not believe their ears. Those who had crouched behind the bar gradually began to poke their heads above it. Naturally, Serpent Sam was the first to move. Leaving his revolvers where they were on the floor, he strode to Patsy with his hand outstretched.