"I expect you're thinkin' of that book now ma'am," he said. "There's a heap of men c'n shoot. You might say they're all good shots. I've told you about the men who can't shoot good. They're either mighty careful, or they ain't here any more. It's always one or the other."
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, shuddering slightly. "In that case I suppose the hero in my story will have to be a good shot." She laughed. "I shouldn't want him to get half way through the story and then be killed because he was clumsy in handling his weapon. I am beginning to believe that I shall have to make him a 'two-gun' man. I understand they are supposed to be very good shots."
"I've seen them that wasn't," he returned gravely and shortly.
"How did you prove that?" she asked suddenly.
But he was not to be snared. "I didn't say I'd proved it," he stated.
"But I've seen it proved."
"How proved?"
"Why," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, "they ain't here any more, ma'am."
"Oh. Then it doesn't follow that because a man wears two guns he is more likely to survive than is the man who wears only one?"
"I reckon not, ma'am."
"I see that you have the bottoms of your holsters tied down," she said, looking at them. "Why have you done that?"