"Leaning against the bar, talking to Antone."

"What were you talking about?"

This question came quicker, sharper than the others, as though
calculated to startle Galloway into a quick answer. But the proprietor
of the Casa Blanca was lighting his cigar and took his time. When he
looked up, his eyes told Norton that he had understood any danger which
might lie under a question so simple in the seeming. His eyes were
smiling contemptuously, but there was a faint flush in his cheeks.

"I don't remember," he replied at last. "Some trifle. The shooting,
coming suddenly that way . . .

"What started the ruction?"

"Bisbee had been drinking a little. He seemed to be in the devil's own
temper. He had asked the Kid to have a drink with him, and Rickard
refused. He had his drink alone and then invited the Kid again.
Rickard told him to go to hell. Bisbee started to walk across the room
as though he was going to the card-room. Then he grabbed his gun and
whirled and started shooting."

"Missing every time, of course?"

Galloway nodded.

"You'll remember I said he was carrying enough of a load to make his
aim bad."