"I killed a steer once," Thurston reminded him meekly, whereat
the laugh hushed; for they remembered.

"I know I can't shoot straight," he went on frankly, "but you're
taking that much the greater chance. If I have to, I'll cut
loose--and there's no telling where the bullets may strike."

"That's right," Park admitted. "Stand still, boys; he's more
dangerous than a gun that isn't loaded. What d'yuh want,
m'son?"

"I want to talk to you for about five minutes. I've got a game
leg, so that I can neither run nor fight, but I hope you'll
listen to me. The Wagners can't get away--they're locked up,
with a deputy standing over them with a gun; and on top of that
they're handcuffed. They're as helpless, boys, as two trapped
coyotes." He looked down over the crowd, which shifted
uneasily; no one spoke.

"That's what struck me most," he continued. "You know what I
thought of Bob, don't you? And I didn't thank them for boring a
hole in my leg; it wasn't any kindness of theirs that it didn't
land higher--they weren't shooting at me for fun. And I'd have
killed them both with a clear conscience, if I could. I tried
hard enough. But it was different then; out in the open, where
a man had an even break. I don't believe if I had shot as
straight as I wanted to that I'd ever have felt a moment's
compunction. But now, when they're disarmed and shackled and
altogether helpless, I couldn't walk up to them deliberately and