“Put it there, pard,” he cried; “you’re a white man an’ no mistake. I see I don’t need to ’pologize fer trying to hev some fun with yer.” “Not at all,” replied Patsy, shaking the man’s hand. Sam winced, for the detective’s grip hurt his sore fingers. “Excuse me,” said Patsy, letting go; “I didn’t think.” Then both laughed, and at that sound the other men came crowding up. “Whar’d you learn to shoot?” asked one. “Say, are you a walking Gatling gun?” inquired another. Patsy smiled at them. “I never learned to shoot,” he said. “I was born with a gun in my hand, and I used to practice at the flies on the wall before I could walk.” Everybody laughed at this. Bronco Bill drew a long breath. The shooting scrap had turned out pleasantly, with nobody the worse for it, and everybody thirsty. Glasses rattled on the bar, and bottles passed. “Here’s how, pard,” said Sam. He drained his glass at one gulp, and set it down. “But say,” he added, “you’d oughter hev let us make the other cuss dance. Friend of yourn?” “No. I saw that he was scared half to death, and I was afraid he might have a fit.” “Rot! he’d ’a’ got over it. Jine us now, won’t ye, pard, and rout him out?” “We’ll let you do the shootin’,” said another, eagerly. “Now, gents,” began Bronco Bill, fearful that the rough crowd would break loose again. He didn’t know Patsy. “Rout him out?” echoed the detective; “why! he’s a mile from here by this time.” “Go on!” “That’s what he’s doing. Bet your life on it.” “We might break down the door and see,” somebody suggested. Several of them began to move toward the door. “Wait a minute,” called Patsy. He was smiling, and they stopped to hear what he had to say. “I’d rather you wouldn’t bother the fellow,” he went on; “I tell you that straight, but if you’re dead anxious to have some fun with him and want me to join, I’ll take the chance of a toss-up. What do you say?” “It’s a go!” cried Sam, taking a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails, pard?” “Is it a cent?” asked the detective. “No—a dime.” “Just as good. Throw it up to the ceiling, and if it comes down what you call yourself, I’ll join you.” Serpent Sam tossed up the coin. “Tails!” he called. It struck the ceiling with a ting, and began to fall. The detective’s revolver flashed, to the great surprise of all, for they were watching the coin. Crack! bang! went the trusty barker twice in rapid order. There was another ting at the further side of the room. Sam went over there, and, after hunting a bit, picked up the dime. He came back to the bar with it, his face fairly blue with wonder. “Durned ef the stranger hain’t won,” he said; “the dime hain’t got either a head or a tail.” He laid the coin on the bar, and everybody crowded around to look at it. Patsy’s first bullet had struck it on one side and his second on the other, for the coin was spinning in the air and luck was with him to the extent that both bullets did not hit the same side.