"Then you mean," began Bowles hopefully, "if I'd struck him this morning he wouldn't have used his gun?"
"Well," admitted Brig, "he might've drawed it—and if you'd whipped him he might've taken a shot at you. But you got a gun too, ain't you?"
"Ye-es," acknowledged Bowles; "but I don't want to kill a man. I wouldn't like to shoot him with it."
"Well, then, for Gawd's sake, take it off!" roared Brigham. "If he'd shot you this mornin' he could a got off fer self-defense! Turn it over to the boss and tell him you don't want no trouble—then if Hardy shoots you he'll swing fer it!"
"But how about me?" queried Bowles.
"You're twice as likely to git shot anyway," persisted Brig, "with a gun on you. If you got to pack a gun, leave it in yore bed, where you can git it if you want it; but if the other feller sees you're heeled, and he's got a gun, it makes him nervous, and if you make a sudden move he plugs you. But if you ain't armed he don't dare to—they're awful strict out here, and these Rangers are the limit. Hardy won't shoot—you ain't afraid of 'im, are you?"
"No-o," said Bowles; "not if he'd fight fair."
"D'ye think you could whip 'im?" demanded Brigham eagerly.
"I can try," responded Bowles grimly.
"That's the talk!" cheered Brigham, leaning over to whack him on the back. "Stand up to 'im! He's nothin' but a big bluff!"