"As Dan begins to crowd him, Silver Phil turns in the saddle an'
shoots. The lead goes 'way off yonder--wild. Dan, grim an' silent,
rides on without returnin' the fire.

"'Which I wouldn't dishonour them guns of mine,' says Dan, explainin'
later the pheenomenon of him not shootin' none, 'which I wouldn't
dishonour them guns by usin' 'em on varmints like this yere Silver
Phil.'

"As Silver Phil reorganises for a second shot his bronco stumbles.
Silver Phil pitches from the saddle an' strikes the grass to one side.
As he half rises, Dan lowers on him like the swoop of a hawk. It's as
though Dan's goin' to snatch a handkerchief from the ground.

"As Dan flashes by, he swings low from the saddle an' his right hand
takes a troo full grip on that outlaw's shoulder. Dan has the thews
an' muscles of a cinnamon b'ar, an' Silver Phil is only a scrap of a
man. As Dan straightens up in the stirrups, he heaves this Silver Phil
on high to the length of his long arm; an' then he dashes him ag'inst
the flint-hard earth; which the manoover--we-all witnesses it from
mebby a quarter of a mile--which the manoover that a-way is shore
remorseless! This Silver Phil is nothin' but shattered bones an'
bleedin' pulp. He strikes the plains like he's crime from the clouds
an' is dead without a quiver.

"'Bury him? No!' says Old Man Enright to Dave Tutt who asks the
question. 'Let him find his bed where he falls.

"While Enright speaks, an' as Dan rides up to us at the Red Light, a