Page:Short Grass (1926).pdf/165

 "Well, he got him yesterday afternoon," Garland told them, quietly.

"Got him what? A drink, or a new necktie?" Moore scoffed, certain of himself and his wisdom in keeping clear of a sell.

"Got him through the heart at sixty feet, with that same little old toy gun," Garland replied in his quiet way, but with a stress of exultation over Moore.

"He got him from behind if he done it!" Moore declared, resenting the news. "He never got Ford Kellogg in a fair and open fight!"

The others were crowding around to listen, for the name of Ford Kellogg was a familiar one from the Arkansas to the Rio Grande.

"No, it wasn't a fair fight," Garland admitted. "The kid gave him every advantage a man could ask for in a sure thing. He let Kellogg get to his gun before he ever made a start for his own. I was across the street, and saw it all. Dunham's the quickest man with a gun, and the surest, I ever saw in my life, and I've seen some purty damn speedy ones, I'm here to tell you."

"I told you!" an old cowman said, nodding sagely around at his comrades. "I could see that boy was holdin' himself in like his arm was in a bear trap. I told you!"

"Where did he go?" Garland inquired.

"Off down the river," somebody replied.

Moore was standing by the wagon, gripping the tire with one big hand, looking like a man who had heard bad news from home. The ready words were frostbitten on his forward tongue; his gizzard felt cold.