Slowly Grump's hand emerged from beneath the Pet's head, and with it came a leather bag containing gold dust.
The colonel drew a perfect bead on Grump's temple.
"I'll jest wait till you're stowin' that away, my golden-haired beauty," said the colonel, within himself, "an' then we'll see what cold lead's got to say about it."
Grump untied the bag, set it upon his own pillow, drew forth his own pouch, and untied it; the colonel's aim remained true to its unconscious mark.
"Ef that's the game," continued the colonel, to himself, "I reckon the proper time to play my trump is just when you're a-pourin' from his bag into your'n. It'll be ez good's a theatre, to bring the boys up to see how 'twas done. Lord! I wish he'd hurry up!"
Grump placed a hand upon each bag, and the colonel felt for his trigger. Grump's left hand opened wide the mouth of Pet's bag, and his right hand raised his own; in a moment he had poured out all his own gold into Pet's bag, tied it, and replaced it under Pet's head.
The colonel retired quietly for a hundred yards, or more, then he started for the saloon like a man inspired by a three-days' thirst. As he entered the saloon the crowd arose.
"Any feller ken say I lie," meekly spoke the colonel, "an' I won't shoot, I wouldn't believe it ef I hedn't seen it with my own eyes. Grump's poured all his gold into the Pet's pouch!"
The whole party, in chorus, condemned their optical organs to supernatural warmth; some, more energetic than the rest, signified that the operation should extend to their lungs and lives. But the doubter of the party again spoke:
"Mind yer," said he, "to-morrow he'll be complainin' that the Pet stole it, an' then he'll claim all in the Pet's pouch."