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After that he held the rifle to the heat of the fire. A squall of rain had overtaken him that day, wetting his weapons. A subtle and singular difference seemed to show in the way he took up the Colt's. His action was slow, his look reluctant. The small gun was not merely a thing of steel and powder and ball. He dried it and rubbed it with care, but not with love, and then he stowed it away.
"Hell hounds!" he cried, "what bloody work have you on hand? What means this?" pointing to the floor. "It means," replied the chief, "that some of your pale-face brethren have been losing their heart's blood there. It also means that the same fate awaits you." Resolved to sell his life as dearly as lay in his power, he sprang forward with a Colt's revolver, and discharged it twice.
He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and several boxes of Winchester cartridges. Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside down and shook it gently. "The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." "Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet.
Indeed this plausible person said so much, and his sullen comrades had said so little, that Seaton, rendered keen and anxious by love, invested his savings in a Colt's revolver and ammunition.
The weapon, a frontier Colt's of heavy caliber, was full cocked under the old man's thumb; the hand holding it was as steady as the blazing eyes above. With a smile Gray said, "Allow me to congratulate you, sir, upon a most impressive demonstration of the power of mind over matter." "A little killin' helps those scoun'rels," breathed the white-haired warrior.
Travennes, who would have had five cartridges between himself and the promised eternity, as he would have been unable to use the .44's in Mr. Cassidy's .45, while the latter would have gladly consented to the change, having as he did an extra .45. Never before had Mr. Cassidy looked with reproach upon his .45 caliber Colt's, and he sighed as he used it to notify Mr.
"Texas Thompson is a jedge of whiskey sech as any gent might tie to. He's a middlin' shot with a Colt's .44 an' can protect himse'f at poker. But nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which I even yet deems this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which event Texas Thompson don't have to think. "It's over in the Red Light the second after. noon when Texas turns loose a whole lot.
"Done it kickin' nights, I guess." "I guess so." The landlord drew the whip lightly across the colt's rear; he shrank together, and made a little spring forward, but behaved perfectly well. "I don't know as I should always be sure he wouldn't kick in the daytime." "No," said Bartley, "you never can be sure of anything." They drove along in silence.
"'Hold on, says Dave, pickin' up his Colt's offen the top of the hewgag; 'don't get cold feet. Which I've seen people turn that kyard in church, but you bet you don't jump no game of mine that a-way. You-all line up ag'in the wall thar ontil I tucks the blankets in on this yere outbreak in F flat, an' I'll be with you.
"Speaking of Mears," said the Bald-faced Kid, "he thinks he'll win to-day with Whitethorn." "Well," said the old man, "I'll tell you, Frank; it's this way 'bout Whitethorn; he'll win if he can beat Obadiah. The colt's ready and this weather suits him down to the ground. He surely does love to run in the slop.
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