Yes, the voice was gentle. But in my ears it seemed as if somewhere the bell of death was ringing; and silence, like a stroke, fell on the large room. All men present, as if by some magnetic current, had become aware of this crisis. In my ignorance, and the total stoppage of my thoughts, I stood stock-still, and noticed various people crouching, or shifting their positions. “Sit quiet,” said the dealer, scornfully to the man near me. “Can’t you see he don’t want to push trouble? He has handed Trampas the choice to back down or draw his steel.” Then, with equal suddenness and ease, the room came out of its strangeness. Voices and cards, the click of chips, the puff of tobacco, glasses lifted to drink,--this level of smooth relaxation hinted no more plainly of what lay beneath than does the surface tell the depth of the sea. For Trampas had made his choice. And that choice was not to “draw his steel.” If it was knowledge that he sought, he had found it, and no mistake! We heard no further reference to what he had been pleased to style “amatures.” In no company would the black-headed man who had visited Arizona be rated a novice at the cool art of self-preservation. One doubt remained: what kind of a man was Trampas? A public back-down is an unfinished thing,--for some natures at least. I looked at his face, and thought it sullen, but tricky rather than courageous. Something had been added to my knowledge also. Once again I had heard applied to the Virginian that epithet which Steve so freely used. The same words, identical to the letter. But this time they had produced a pistol. “When you call me that, SMILE!” So I perceived a new example of the old truth, that the letter means nothing until the spirit gives it life. III. STEVE TREATS It was for several minutes, I suppose, that I stood drawing these silent morals. No man occupied himself with me. Quiet voices, and games of chance, and glasses lifted to drink, continued to be the peaceful order of the night. And into my thoughts broke the voice of that card-dealer who had already spoken so sagely. He also took his turn at moralizing. “What did I tell you?” he remarked to the man for whom he continued to deal, and who continued to lose money to him. “Tell me when?” “Didn’t I tell you he’d not shoot?” the dealer pursued with complacence. “You got ready to dodge. You had no call to be concerned. He’s not the kind a man need feel anxious about.” The player looked over at the Virginian, doubtfully. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know what you folks call a dangerous man.” “Not him!” exclaimed the dealer with admiration. “He’s a brave man. That’s different.” The player seemed to follow this reasoning no better than I did. “It’s not a brave man that’s dangerous,” continued the dealer. “It’s the cowards that scare me.” He paused that this might sink home.