ecollect--and for
several years afterward they cudgelled their brains pretty thoroughly
about that moment--was that Whispering Smith took hold of the left
lapel of his coat to take the tobacco out of the breast pocket. An
excuse to take that lapel in his left hand was, in fact, all that
Whispering Smith needed to put not alone the three men before him but
all Oroville at his mercy. The play of his right hand in crossing the
corduroy waistcoat to pull his revolver from its scabbard and throw it
into their faces was all too quick for better eyes than theirs. They
saw only the muzzle of the heavy Colt's playing like a snake's tongue
under their surprised noses, with the good-natured smile still behind
it. "Or will one of you roll a cigarette?" asked Whispering Smith,
without a break between the two questions. "I don't smoke. Now don't
make faces; go right ahead. Do anything you want to with your hands. I
wouldn't ask a man to keep his hands or feet still on a hot day like
this," he insisted, the revolver playing all the time. "You won't
draw? You won't fight? Pshaw! Then disengage your hands gently from
your guns. You fellows really ought not to attempt to pull a gun in
Oroville, and I will tell you why--there's a reason for it." He looked
confidential as he put his head forward to whisper among the
crestfallen faces. "At this altitude it is too fast work. I know you
now," he went on as they continued to wilt. "You are Fatty Filber," he
said to the thin chap. "Don't work your mouth like that at me; don't
do it. You seem surprised. Really, have you the asthma? Get over it,
because you are wanted in Pound County for horse-stealing. Why, hang
it, Fatty, you're good for ten years, and of course, since you have
reminded me of it, I'll see that you get it. And you, Baxter," said he
to the man on the right, "I know I spoke to you once when I was
inspector about altering brands; that's five years, you know. You," he
added, scrutinizing the third man to scare him to death--"I think you
were at Tower W. No? No matter; you two boys may go, anyway. Fatty,
you stay; we'll put some state cow on your ribs. By the way, are you a
detective, Fatty? Aren't you? See here! I can get you into an
association. For ten dollars, they give you a German-silver star, and
teach the Japanese method of pulling, by correspondence. Or you might
get an electric battery to handle your gun with. You can get pocket
dynamos from the mail-order houses. Sure! Read