"Two-gun," sneered a man who stood near the saloon door. "I wonder what he totes them two guns for?"
The shooter heard and turned toward the man who had spoken, his lips wreathed satirically.
"I reckon he wouldn't shoot nothin' with them," he said, addressing the man who had spoken.
Several men laughed. The tall man who had revealed interest before now raised a hand, checking further comment.
"That offer of a hundred to the man who can beat that shootin' still goes," he declared. "An' I'm taking off the condition. The man that tries don't have to belong to Dry Bottom. No stranger is barred!"
The stranger's glance again met the shooter's. The latter grinned felinely. Then the rider spoke. The crowd gave him its polite attention.
"I reckon you-all think you've seen some shootin'," he said in a steady, even voice, singularly free from boast. "But I reckon you ain't seen any real shootin'." He turned to the tall, grave-faced man. "I ain't got no hundred," he said, "but I'm goin' to show you."
He still sat in the saddle. But now with an easy motion he swung down and hitched his pony to the rail.