d glazed. Laramie had changed in an instant
from a man that had not tasted liquor to a man half tipsy.

It was a feint, but a feint made with an accurate understanding of a
dangerous enemy.

CHAPTER X

LARAMIE COUNTS FIVE

There was not a chance of escape. Laramie's left arm was resting on
the bar. Under the overhang, Stone, as he faced Laramie, now pressed
the gun with his right arm, into Laramie's stomach. For Laramie to
attempt to knock it away with his own right hand would be to take an
almost certainly fatal chance; while for any friend of his to touch
Stone or shoot him would mean certain death to Laramie. Feeling that
he had his enemy dead to rights, Stone baited him:

"Laramie," he began, fixing his eyes on those of his victim, "there's
some men's lived in this country too long."

The words carried the irritable nasal tone familiar to Stone's
acquaintances. Laramie's eyes merely brightened a little with the
effort to reply: "Tom," he declared, with just enough of hesitation to
play the game, "that's the first thing my wife said yes'day morning."

Stone stared: "When," he demanded, "did you get married?"

"Put up your gun. I'll tell you about it."

Stone only grinned: "I can hear pretty well, right now."

"If you want to see her picture, Tom, uncock your gun."

"Not a little bit. I've got you right."

Laramie smiled: "Sure, Tom, but there's plenty of time; put down the
hammer." Stone, without moving his gun, did silently lower the hammer.
Laramie counted one. Then he began to describe his trick bride. Stone
cut him off. He cocked his gun again: "Show me her picture," he
snarled.

Tenison took the instant to lean impressively across the bar. He
pointed a long finger at Stone: "Tom," he said, with measured emphasis,
"no man can pull a gun here tonight and get away with it. That'll be
enough."

Stone scowled: "Harry, this scout is through; nobody wants him any
longer in this country," he said.

"Take your quarrel somewhere else tonight--this is my celebration--do
you get me, Tom?"

Under the implied threat of the determined gambler the hammer of
Stone's gun came down: "I c'n get along with any man that'll do what's
right," asserted Stone, trying to keep his head clear. "Laramie won't."

"Why, Tom!" expostulated Laramie, reproachfully.

The revolver clicked; the hammer was up again.

"Y' won't do what's right, will y', Laramie?" demanded Stone thickly.

There were probab