"Not me. Me and my men will deposit our hardware and git a rain check." And he began to unbuckle his belt slowly, his example being followed by his retainers in a helpless, bewildered way.
"Mind you, I think you're wrong. There bein' no proper sense of restraint, I'll bet this ends up in the damnedest row! You know, Parson," holding it out, "God made the gun to put every man on an equality!"
He paused for a moment, almost expecting that the preacher might be moved by this powerful almost unanswerable argument, but as he saw no sign of any weakening he put his gun before Wah-na-gi.
Hal had been the first to comply with the request of the chairman, and as he put his weapon before her, gave her a smile, to which she responded with a look in which love and terror struggled for the mastery.
"Make some excuse and get away," she whispered. "He's armed," and she tossed her head in the direction of the store.
"Don't worry, little woman," he said and walked back to the others.
"By the way," said McCloud casually. "Perhaps I didn't make it quite plain. I meant all weapons."
McShay looked at the parson with a smile that was touching in its frank admiration.
"Boys, the parson's on. He's on. There can't be no trumps held out in this discard."
It now appeared that the McShay crowd was a walking arsenal. Weapons made their appearance from the most innocent places. The big man drew a gun from a pocket holster underneath each arm. They were so disposed that he could fold his arms in the most natural way and have each hand rest on the butt of a gun, which he could draw simultaneously and very quickly. Orson Lee seemed to have a preference for the knife as an auxiliary weapon, for he drew one from the leg of his boot and another from the back of his neck, the two extremes.