Kid's passengers, they got fooled good an' proper when the Kid pumps
'em full of .45 pills. After that the Kid come to be know'd as
Cinnabar Joe, an' when the last of the dude-wagons was throw'd out fer
automobiles the Kid drifted up into the cow country. But they's a
certain express company that's still huntin' fer the gang--not knowin'
o' course that the Cinnabar Joe that got notorious fer defendin' his
dudes was one of 'em.'"

The cowpuncher ceased speaking and produced his "makings" while the
other stood gazing straight before him, the dead cigar still gripped in
the corner of his mouth. The scratch of the match roused him and quick
as a flash he reached beneath the bar and the next instant had Purdy
covered with a six-shooter. With his finger on the trigger Cinnabar
Joe hesitated, and in that instant he learned that the man that faced
him across the bar was as brave as he was unscrupulous. The fingers
that twisted the little cylinder of paper never faltered and the black
eyes looked straight into the muzzle of the gun.

Now, in the cow country the drawing of a gun is one and the same
movement with the firing of it, and why Cinnabar Joe hesitated he did
not know.

Purdy laughed: "Put her down, Cinnabar. Yeh won't shoot, now. Yeh
see, I kind of figgered yeh might be sort o' riled up, so I left my gun
in my slicker. Shootin' a unarmed man don't git yeh nothin' but a
chanct to stretch a rope."

The bartender returned the gun to its place. "Where'd you git that
dope, Jack?" he asked, in a dull voice.