"Hands down is right, old-timer. Fannin' a gun is show stuff, but it's wicked, at close range."
Meanwhile, Bartley had been experimenting further with the Luger. When he got through he had a hat full of pieces and Cheyenne was staring at what seemed to be the wreck of a once potent weapon.
"Why, you done pulled that little lead sprinkler all to bits!" exclaimed Cheyenne, "and you didn't have no tools to do it with."
"You can take down and assemble this gun without tools," stated Bartley. "All you need is your fingers."
"But what in Sam Hill did you pull her apart for?"
"Just to see if I could put her together again."
Cheyenne scratched his head, and stepped over to inspect the juniper stump. He stooped, whistled, and turned to Bartley. "Man, you like to sawed that stub in two. Why didn't you say you could shoot?"
"I can't, in your class. But tell me why you Westerners always seem to think it strange that an Easterner can sit a horse or shoot fairly well? Is it because you consider that the average tourist represents the entire East?"
"I dunno. But, then, I've met up with Easterners that weren't just like you."
Bartley was busy, assembling the Luger, and Cheyenne was watching him, when they glanced up simultaneously. A shadow drifted between them.