Are you too damn good to drink with me? Then drink by yourself, you
white-livered coyote!"

He dashed the glass of whisky into Dan's face. Half blinded by the
stinging liquor, the latter fell back a pace, sputtering, and wiping
his eyes. Not a man in the room stirred. The same sick look was on
each face. But the red devil broke loose in Silent's heart when he saw
Dan cringe. He followed the thrown glass with his clenched fist. Dan
stood perfectly still and watched the blow coming. His eyes were wide
and wondering, like those of a child. The iron-hard hand struck him
full on the mouth, fairly lifted him from his feet, and flung him
against the wall with such violence that he recoiled again and fell
forward onto his knees. Silent was making beast noises in his throat
and preparing to rush on the half-prostrate figure. He stopped short.

Dan was laughing. At least that chuckling murmur was near to a laugh.
Yet there was no mirth in it. It had that touch of the maniacal in it
which freezes the blood. Silent halted in the midst of his rush, with
his hands poised for the next blow. His mouth fell agape with an odd
expression of horror as Dan stared up at him. That hideous chuckling
continued. The sound defied definition. And from the shadow in which
Dan was crouched his brown eyes blazed, changed, and filled with
yellow fires.

"God!" whispered Silent, and at that instant the ominous crouched
animal with the yellow eyes, the nameless thing which had been
Whistling Dan a moment before, sprang up and forward with a leap like
that of a panther.

Morgan stood behind the bar with a livid face and a fixed smile. His