."

"Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper,
never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess
Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an'
some fer nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is
because he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich.
They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of
gold. But he's free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a
shipment of cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is there's
always plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty,
bloody money!"

"It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!"
exclaimed Duane.

"Wal," replied Euchre, dryly, "he's been quicker on the draw than the
other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all."

Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.

"Speakin' of this here swift wrist game," went on Euchre, "there's been
considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
thet among us fellers--us hunted men--there ain't anythin' calculated
to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this
afternoon--an' he said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd
never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just
couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you
meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself.
Chess is the captain with a Colt--or he was. An' he shore didn't like
the references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin'
it, but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your
draw might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different.
An' they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears
to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago.
Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails
you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin'
out, blood in his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an'
weren't his eyes readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw--can't
you-all see thet's a family gift?'"

Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a
slap with his flou