his surroundings, never more observant, he suddenly understood. For
the briefest lapse of time he and Hilma looked deep into each other's
eyes, and from that moment on, Annixter knew that Hilma cared.

The whole matter was brief as the snapping of a finger. Two words and
a glance and all was done. But as though nothing had occurred, Annixter
pushed Hilma from him, repeating harshly:

"Get back, I tell you. Don't you see he's got a gun? Haven't I enough on
my hands without you?"

He loosed her clasp and his eyes once more on Delaney, moved diagonally
backwards toward the side of the barn, pushing Hilma from him. In
the end he thrust her away so sharply that she gave back with a long
stagger; somebody caught her arm and drew her in, leaving Annixter alone
once more in the middle of the floor, his hands in his coat pockets,
watchful, alert, facing his enemy.

But the cow-puncher was not ready to come to grapples yet. Fearless,
his wits gambolling under the lash of the alcohol, he wished to make the
most of the occasion, maintaining the suspense, playing for the gallery.
By touches of the hand and knee he kept the buckskin in continual,
nervous movement, her hoofs clattering, snorting, tossing her head,
while he, himself, addressing himself to Annixter, poured out a torrent
of invective.

"Well, strike me blind if it ain't old Buck Annixter! He was going to
show me off Quien Sabe at the toe of his boot, was he? Well, here's
your chance,--with the ladies to see you do it. Gives a dance, does
he, high-falutin' hoe-down in his barn and forgets to invite his old
broncho-bustin' friend. But his friend don't forget him; no, he don't.
He remembers little things, does his broncho-bustin' friend. Likes to
see a dance hisself on occasion, his friend does. Comes anyhow, trustin'
his welcome will be hearty; just to see old Buck Annixter dance, just to
show Buck Annixter's friends how Buck can dance--dance all by hisself, a
little hen-on-a-hot-plate dance when his broncho-bustin' friend asks
him so polite. A little dance for the ladies, Buck. This feature of
the entertainment is alone worth the price of admission. Tune up, Buck.
Attention now! I'll give you the key."

He "fanned" his revolver, spinning it about his index finger by the
trigger-guard with incredible swiftness, the twirling weapon a mere blur
of blue steel in his hand. Suddenly and without any apparent cessation
of the movement, he fired, and a little splinter of wo