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An expert banner man will drive tacks almost as rapidly as you could fire a self-acting revolver." "That is odd. What does the fellow called the programmer do?" "He takes the small printed matter around, and drops it on doorsteps and in stores. When we are making a day run with the car he drops the printed matter off at stations and crossroads, or wherever he sees a man.
The cow-puncher lay on his back, deep in the wheat, his knees drawn up, his eyes wide open, his lips brown. Rigidly gripped in one hand was his empty revolver. The men, farm hands from the neighbouring ranches, young fellows from Guadalajara, drew back in instinctive repulsion. One at length ventured near, peering down into the face. "Is he dead?" inquired those in the rear. "I don't know."
What puzzled the police was the fact, not merely that he had been shot with his own revolver, but that the revolver had been exploded in the drawer of his desk. The bullets had torn through the front of the drawer and entered his body. The police scouted the theory of suicide, murder was dismissed as absurd, and the blame was thrown upon the Eureka Smokeless Cartridge Company.
He was now directly in front of the spot where the detective was concealed, but with his back toward the operative. As he turned to go into the stall, Manning stopped quickly forward, with his revolver in his hand, and grasping Duncan firmly by the shoulder, he said: "Thomas Duncan, I have caught you at last."
Breaking into a run, the Captain was by the edge of the stream the next moment, whipped out his revolver, pointed it at Paul, and cried, "Stop!" For although one does not mean to fire, it is often useful to create the impression that one does. The action had its effect now, although not exactly as Dieppe had anticipated.
As the sheriff realized this fact, he turned his head and looked into the muzzle of the revolver. "Stay where you are, Sheriff," said the prisoner, his eyes glistening, his face almost ruddy with excitement. The sheriff mentally cursed his own carelessness for allowing him to be caught in such a predicament. He had not expected anything of the kind.
"Yes," she said, buttoning up her jacket again. "I robbed the robbers. Listen, and I will tell you all that happened. But, first, are you armed?" "Yes," he replied, "I have a trumpery revolver in my pocket; little good it did me last night." "Very well, we shall be across the frontier by noon to-day.
Lyon drew from a deep side-pocket a loaded revolver; but the hand of his companion was laid quickly upon his arm, and his lips, in dumb show, gave the word "Madness!" Lyon shook him off, and deliberately pointed his weapon toward the door. "Hallo, there! Are you asleep?" This loud call came after repeated knocking and rattling.
Barbara Harding saw Byrne whip Theriere's revolver from its holster, and snap it in the face of the savage; but to her horror the cartridge failed to explode, and before he could fire again the warrior was upon him.
But the man Schwartzmann was guarding them with his revolver. I couldn't imagine what she meant; and then suddenly I knew. Throughout the entire scene, whenever I had glanced at her, I had noticed the steady way in which her look met mine and then turned aside. It had seemed almost like a signal or a message she was trying to give me. And which way had her eyes always gone? Why, down the hall!
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