"tenderfoot." Others, to whom the proprietor had spoken concerning
Calumet, looked at him in surprise. Still others merely stared at
Garvey and Calumet, unable to account for the latter's mild submission
to this unallowed liberty. The proprietor alone, remembering a certain
gleam in Calumet's eyes on a former occasion, looked at him now and saw
deep in his eyes a slumbering counterpart to it, and discreetly retired
to the far end of the bar, where there was a whiskey barrel in front of
him.

But Calumet seemed unconcerned.

"Some gun," remarked Garvey. It was strange, though, that he was not
looking at the weapon at all, or he might have seen the empty chambers.
He was looking at Calumet, and it was apparent that his interest in the
weapon was negative.

"Yes, some," agreed Calumet. He swung around and faced the man,
leaning his left arm carelessly on the bar.

At that instant Denver Ed sauntered over and joined them. He looked
once at Calumet, and then his gaze went to Garvey as he spoke.

"Friend of yourn?" he questioned. There was marked deference in the
manner of Garvey. He politely backed away, shifting his position so
that Denver Ed faced Calumet at a distance of several feet, with no
obstruction between them.

Calumet's eyes met Denver's, and he answered the latter's question,
Garvey having apparently withdrawn from the conversation.

"Friend of _his_?" sneered Calumet, grinning shallowly. "I reckon not;
I'm pickin' my company."

Denver Ed did not answer at once. He moved a little toward Calumet and
shoved his right hip forward, so that the butt of his six-shooter was
invitingly near. Then, with his hands folded peacefully over his
chest, he spoke:

"You do," he said, "you mangy ------!"

There was a stir among the onlookers as the vile epithet was applied.
Calumet's right hand went swiftly forward and his fingers closed around
the butt of the weapon at Denver Ed's hip. The gun came out with a
jerk and lay in Calumet's hand. Calumet began to pull the trigger.
The dull, metallic impact of the hammer against empty chambers was the
only result.

Denver Ed grinned malignantly as his right hand stole into his vest.
There was a flash of metal as he drew the concealed gun, but before its
muzzle could be trained on Calumet the latter pressed the empty weapon
in his own hand against the one that Denver Ed was attempting to draw,
blocking its egress; while in Calumet's left hand the six-shooter