Apparently, if Deveny now elected to draw and shoot, his chances were as good as Harlan’s.
And yet Deveny knew they were not as good. For Harlan’s action in sheathing his gun convinced Deveny that the man had divined his thoughts from the expression of his eyes before he had veiled them with the lids, and he was convinced that Harlan had sensed the chill of dread that had swept over him at that instant. He was sure of it when he heard Harlan’s voice, low and taunting:
“You waitin’ for a show-down?”
Deveny smiled, pallidly. “I don’t mind telling you that I did have a notion that way a moment ago. But I was afraid I might be a little slow. When you downed Laskar I watched you, trying to learn the secret of your draw. I didn’t learn it, because there is no secret—you’re just a natural gunslinger without a flaw. You’re the fastest man with a gun I ever saw—and I’m taking my hat off to you.”
Harlan smiled faintly, but his eyes did not lose their alertness, nor did the flame in them cool visibly. Only his lips betrayed whatever emotion he felt. He distrusted Deveny, for he had seen the half-formed determination in the man’s eyes, and his muscles were tensed in anticipation of a trick.
“You didn’t stay here to tell me that. Get goin’ with the real talk.”
“That’s right—I didn’t,” said Deveny. He was cool, now, and bland, having recovered his poise.
“Higgins was watching Barbara Morgan at my orders. But I meant no harm to the girl. I knew she was in town, and I heard there were a few of the boys that were making plans about her. So I set Higgins to guard her. Naturally, she thought I meant harm to her.”
“Naturally,” said Harlan.
Deveny said coolly: “I’ll admit I have a bad reputation. But it doesn’t run to women. It’s more in your line.” He looked significantly at the other.