“I reckon the time has come to ask Mister Miller what his game is,” he said. “Him toting a pistol that-a-way without any permit to do so gives me a good excuse. I’ll make him a little unannounced call. Go get your supper; I’ll see you downstairs afterward.”
He already knew the location of Miller’s room. Three minutes later he tapped on the door. A deep voice called, “Come!” and Carmichael entered. The Argentinian stood facing him from near the bathroom entrance, not a dozen feet away, and instantly, without a word, when he saw the Ranger he went after his gun.
It was not a fight; it was too one-sided and over too quickly to be called that.
Miller’s right hand went back to the weapon high on his hip with what might have seemed fair speed to the eyes of some Easterner unversed in the technique of pistol drawing, but a fatal slowness by the standards of the Southwest. Captain Carmichael covered the distance between them in two flying steps and his own pistol leaped into his hand while he was taking the first of them; he easily could have killed the Argentinian where he stood but he did not find it necessary. Miller had not got the new gun clear of his waistband when the Ranger came within arm’s reach. It was just coming free when the barrel of Carmichael’s .45 crashed against the side of his head. He went down limp, his hand slipping from the half-drawn weapon.
The captain had it safely out of reach and had satisfied himself that Miller bore no other arms when the man opened his eyes, groaned, touched his head gently with his fingers and made a dizzy effort to sit up.
“Steady, hombre!” Carmichael warned him gruffly. “I’ve got your gun. Take it easy. When your brain gets cleared a little we’ll talk.”
Miller did not groan again, although his head must have ached terribly. Once he had gained full control of his faculties he did not even wince, and Carmichael noted this with approval; he admired men who could take what punishment came to them without whining. Two or three minutes elapsed before Miller asked:
“Do you mind if I sit in a chair, cap’n?”
Carmichael succeeded in concealing his surprise that Miller knew him.
“Go to it,” he said. He, too, took a seat, his pistol resting on his knee. “You won’t be fool enough to start anything more,” he said, moving it significantly. “If you do, you won’t get away with it. All right. Suppose you tell me——”