"You're something of a four-flusher yourself, aren't you?" he mocked. "You know I have no gun. Your brave pose is very effective. I would congratulate you, only, you see, it doesn't impress me in the least."
With an oath Phil snatched his gun from the holster, and threw it aside.
"Have it any way you like," he retorted, and started toward Patches.
Then a curious thing happened to Honorable Patches. Angry as he was, he became suddenly dominated by something that was more potent than his rage.
"Stop!" he cried sharply, and with such ringing force that Phil involuntarily obeyed. "I can't fight you this way, Phil," he said; and the other, wondering, saw that whimsical, self-mocking smile on his lips. "You know as well as I do that you are no match for me barehanded. You couldn't even touch me; you have seen Curly and the others try it often enough. You are as helpless in my power, now, as I was in yours a moment ago. I am armed now and you are not. I can't fight you this way, Phil."
In spite of himself Phil Acton was impressed by the truth and fairness of Patches' words. He recognized that an unequal contest could satisfy neither of them, and that it made no difference which of the contestants had the advantage.
"Well," he said sarcastically, "what are you going to do about it?"
"First," returned Patches calmly, "I am going to tell you how I happened to be here with Yavapai Joe."
"I don't need any explanations from you. It's some more of your personal business, I suppose," retorted Phil.
Patches controlled himself. "You are going to hear the explanation, just the same," he returned. "You can believe it or not, just as you please."