"Muck," warned Alkali gravely, tossing the match over his shoulder, "yo know how easy I'm roused. I've et bigger men'n yo fer breakfast."
"Alkali Sam," returned Muck, with equal gravity, "I ast yer tuh remove them blots on the innercent habits o' the H-Lazy Z seminary fer perlite young ladies. I don't often ask twice."
Alkali ostentatiously loosened his Colt.
"Here, Dakota, take this toy while I'm good-tempered. We ain't got time fer no funeral."
Stamford caught the wink that accompanied Alkali's toss of the revolver before his face, but it did not prepare him for the explosion that filled the room the instant it touched Dakota's hand. The bullet whistled so close that he ducked.
When he straightened, Dakota was looking into the smoking muzzle of the Colt with an air of intense surprise.
"Funny things, guns!" murmured the foreman.
"Darn funny!" growled Stamford, taking fresh hold of himself.
The smile he saw flitting over the faces of the cowboys had warned him that he was the victim of a bit of gun-play dangerous in the hands of less expert gunmen than Alkali and Dakota.
Muck Norsley swept his hand over the table, scooping up a sample of the flies that had all through the meal been robbing Stamford of some of his appetite, fished two from his coffee, and carried them to the door, where he gravely released them.