The eyes of the cattleman gleamed, but his drawling voice was still casual.  “Why didn’t Meldrum shoot?”

“Triumph of mind over matter, I reckon.  He wanted to shoot—­was crazy to kill your friend.  But—­he didn’t.  Beaudry had talked him out of it.”

“How?”

“Bullied him out of it—­jeered at him and threatened him and man-called him, with that big gun shining in his eyes every minute of the time.”

Dingwell nodded slowly.  He wanted to get the full flavor of this joyous episode that had occurred.  “And the kid lit his cigarette while Meldrum, crazy as a hydrophobia skunk, had his gun trained on him?”

“That’s right.  Stood there with a kind o’ you-be-damned placard stuck all over him, then got out the makings and lit up.  He tilted back that handsome head of his and blew a smoke wreath into the air.  Looked like he’d plumb wiped Mr. Meldrum off his map.  He’s a world-beater, that young fellow is—­doesn’t know what fear is,” concluded the buyer sagely.

“You don’t say!” murmured Mr. Dingwell.

“Sure as you’re a foot high.  While I was trying to climb up the side of a railroad car to get out of range, that young guy was figuring it all out.  He was explaining thorough to the bad man what would happen if he curled his fore-finger another quarter of an inch.  Just as cool and easy, you understand.”

“You mean that he figured out his chances?”

“You bet you!  He figured it all out, played a long shot, and won.  The point is that it wouldn’t help him any if this fellow Meldrum starred in a subsequent lynching.  The man had been drinking like a blue blotter.  Had he sense enough left to know his danger?  Was his brain steady enough to hold him in check?  Nobody could tell that.  But your partner gambled on it and won.”

This was meat and drink to Dave.  He artfully pretended to make light of the whole affair in order to stir up the buyer to more details.

“I reckon maybe Meldrum was just bluffing.  Maybe—­”

“Bluffing!” The Coloradoan swelled.  “Bluffing!  I tell you there was murder in the fellow’s eye.  He had come there primed for a killing.  If Beaudry had weakened by a hair’s breadth, that forty-four would have pumped lead into his brain.  Ask the train crew.  Ask the station agent.  Ask any one who was there.”

“Maybeso,” assented Dave dubiously.  “But if he was so game, why didn’t Beaudry go back and take Meldrum’s gun from him?”

The buyer was on the spot with an eager, triumphant answer.  “That just proves what I claim.  He just brushed the fellow’s gun aside and acted like he’d forgot the killer had a gun.  ’Course, he could ‘a’ gone back and taken the gun.  After what he’d already pulled off, that would have been like stealing apples from a blind Dutchman.  But Beaudry wasn’t going to give him that much consideration.  Don’t you see?  Meldrum, or whatever his name is, was welcome to keep the revolver to play with.  Your friend didn’t care how many guns he was toting.”