"Don't stan' there like a fool. Trot over to the bar an' git me a jolt
of red-eye. I'm dry!" thundered Silent.

"Sure!" nodded Whistling Dan amiably, "glad to!" and he went
accordingly towards the bar.

The men about the room looked to each other with sick smiles.
There was an excuse for acquiescence, for the figure of Jim Silent
contrasted with Whistling Dan was like an oak compared with a sapling.
Nevertheless such bland cowardice as Dan was showing made their flesh
creep. He asked at the bar for the whisky, and Morgan spoke as Dan
filled a glass nearly to the brim.

"Dan," he whispered rapidly, "I got a gun behind the bar. Say the word
an' I'll take the chance of pullin' it on that big skunk. Then you
make a dive for the door. Maybe I can keep him back till you get on
Satan."

"Why should I beat it?" queried Dan, astonished. "I'm jest beginnin'
to get interested in your place. That tall feller is sure a queer one,
ain't he?"

With the same calm and wide-eyed smile of inquiry he turned away,
taking the glass of liquor, and left Morgan to stare after him with a
face pale with amazement, while he whispered over and over to himself:
"Well, I'll be damned! Well, I'll be damned!"

Dan placed the liquor before Silent. The latter sat gnawing his lips.

"What in hell do you mean?" he said. "Did you only bring one glass?