struck the muzzle of a pistol into his back. Another Tolliver
flashed his weapon on the Falin. This Tolliver was covered by
another Falin and in so many flashes of lightning the eight men in
front of him were covering each other--every man afraid to be the
first to shoot, since he knew that the flash of his own pistol
meant instantaneous death for him. As Hale shrank back, he pushed
against somebody who thrust him aside. It was the judge:

"Why don't somebody shoot?" he asked sarcastically. "You're a
purty set o' fools, ain't you? I want you all to stop this damned
foolishness. Now when I give the word I want you, Jim Falin and
Rufe Tolliver thar, to drap yer guns."

Already Rufe was grinning like a devil over the absurdity of the
situation.

"Now!" said the judge, and the two guns were dropped.

"Put 'em in yo' pockets."

They did.

"Drap!" All dropped and, with those two, all put up their guns--
each man, however, watching now the man who had just been covering
him. It is not wise for the stranger to show too much interest in
the personal affairs of mountain men, and Hale left the judge
berating them and went to the hotel to get ready for the Gap,
little dreaming how fixed the faces of some of those men were in
his brain and how, later, they were to rise in his memory again.
His horse was lame--but he must go on: so he hired a "yaller" mule