"Very well. Harry Redburn, that gambler under cover of your pistol is
guilty of a crime, punishable in the Black Hills by death. As you are
his victim--or, rather, were to be--it only remains for you to aim
straight and rid your country of an A No. 1 dead-beat and swindler!"

"Oh! no!" gasped Redburn, horrified at the thought of taking the life
of a fellow-creature--"I cannot, I cannot!"

"You _can!_" said Harris, sternly; "go on--_you must salt that
card-sharp, or I'll certainly salt you!_"

A deathlike silence followed.

"_One!_" said Harris, after a moment.

Redburn grew very pale, but not paler was he than the card-sharp just
opposite. Redburn was no coward; neither was he accustomed to the
desperate character of the population of the Hills. Should he shoot
the tricky wretch before him, he knew he should be always calling
himself a murderer. On the contrary, in the natural laws of Deadwood,
such a murder would be classed justice.

"_Two!_" said Ned Harris, drawing his pistol-hammer back to full cock.
"Come, pilgrim, are you going to shoot?"

Another silence; only the low breathing of the spectators could be
heard.

"_Three!_"