“Steady up, pal,” said Morgan, “the lads mean no harm.  That tall man is considerable riled; which he’ll now bet his sombrero agin you when it comes to shootin’.”

He turned back to Silent.

“Look here, partner,” he said, “this is the man I said could nail the four dollars before they hit the dust.  I figger you don’t think how it can be done, eh?”

“Him?” said Silent in deep disgust.  “Send him back to his ma before somebody musses him all up!  Why, he don’t even pack a gun!”

Morgan waited a long moment so that the little silence would make his next speech impressive.

“Stranger,” he said, “I’ve still got somewhere in the neighbourhood of five hundred dollars in that cash drawer.  An’ every cent of it hollers that Dan can do what I said.”

Silent hesitated.  His code was loose, but he did not like to take advantage of a drunk or a crazy man.  However, five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars.  Moreover that handsome fellow who had just taken water from Hal Purvis and was now smiling foolishly at his own shame, had actually ridden Red Peter.  The remembrance infuriated Silent.

“Hurry up,” said Morgan confidently.  “I dunno what you’re thinkin’, stranger.  Which I’m kind of deaf an’ I don’t understand the way anything talks except money.”

“Corral that talk, Morgan!” called a voice from the crowd, “you’re plumb locoed if you think any man in the world can get away with a stunt like that!  Pick four in the air!”

“You keep your jaw for yourself,” said Silent angrily, “if he wants to donate a little more money to charity, let him do it.  Morgan, I’ve got five hundred here to cover your stake.”

“Make him give you odds, Morgan,” said another voice, “because——­”

A glance from Silent cut the suggestion short.  After that there was little loud conversation.  The stakes were large.  The excitement made the men hush the very tones in which they spoke.  Morgan moistened his white lips.

“You c’n see I’m not packin’ any shootin’ irons,” said Dan.  “Has anybody got any suggestions?”

Every gun in the crowd was instantly at his service.  They were heartily tempted to despise Dan, but as one with the courage to attempt the impossible, they would help him as far as they could.  He took their guns one after the other, weighed them, tried the action, and handed them back.  It was almost as if there were a separate intelligence in the ends of his fingers which informed him of the qualities of each weapon.

“Nice gun,” he said to the first man whose revolver he handled, “but I don’t like a barrel that’s quite so heavy.  There’s a whole ounce too much in the barrel.”

“What d’you mean?” asked the cowpuncher.  “I’ve packed that gun for pretty nigh eight years!”

“Sorry,” said Dan passing on, “but I can’t work right with a top-heavy gun.”

The next weapon he handed back almost at once.