with a cry of pain the bartender spun half
around clutching at his right arm.

"Backin' up hard words with gun play is dangerous business onless you're
a top hand at it," observed the Texan, drily, as he stepped around to
the man's side. A movement in front of the bar caused the six-gun once
more to leap from its holster and at the action four pairs of hands flew
ceilingward. "Just you hombres belly right close up to the rail an' all
yer hands open an' above board on top of the bar, an' you, Stork, you
come on around here an' tie up this arm or there'll be some more
casualties reported. If you're all as plumb languid on the draw as yer
fellow citizen here your ranks is sure due to thin out some." The Texan
stooped to recover the bartender's gun from the floor and as he did so
Ike Stork stepped around the corner of the bar, and taking instant
advantage of his position, administered a kick that sent the cowboy
sprawling at the feet of the bartender. Pandemonium broke loose in the
smashing of glass and the thud of blows. Forgetting his injured arm the
bartender joined Stork who had followed up his advantage by leaping upon
the struggling Texan. Reaching over the bar, Green Vest sent the heavy
whisky bottle crashing into the _melee_ while his two companions
contributed the array of empty glasses and then valiantly bolted for the
door. The narrowness of the alley behind the bar undoubtedly saved the
struggling Texan from serious mishap. As it was his two assailants
hindered and impeded each other and at the same time formed a buffer
against the shower of glassware that descended from above. Freeing one
hand the Texan began to shoot along the floor. With the first explosion
the bartender scrambled to his feet and leaped onto the bar at the
precise moment that Green Vest, pausing in his flight toward the door,
seized a heavy brass cuspidor and hurled it with both hands. The
whirling missile caught the bartender full in the face and without a
sound he crashed backward carrying Ike Stork with him to the floor. The
next instant the Texan was upon his feet and a gun in each hand,
grinned down into the face of the terrified man who lay helplessly
pinned by the inert form of the bartender. "Any friends or relations you
want notified, Isaac, or any special disposal of the remains?" he
questioned, as the guns waved back and forth above the prostrate man's
face.

"G'wan, shoot if yer goin' to. I ain't packin' no gun. I done my
damned