Jesse strode over to them and handed each a keen-edged bowie.
"Fight," he commanded tersely.
The horror of it sent a shiver down the spine of every man in the room.
The men were friends, and the hands bearing the knives settled slowly to their sides as they looked into each other's eyes.
Two guns in the notorious outlaw's hands barked viciously at the same instant and each of the unwilling combatants lost a portion of one ear.
"By Judas that was a shot," exulted the rancher. "Mine ain't in it with that. Fight, you measly spalpeens!" he roared and Jesse smiled as he noted that the blood lust had taken supreme possession of the man.
"Yes, fight," added Jesse, notching the ends of the arses of both men with another of his wonderful shots as if to emphasize his command.
In blind despair the unhappy wretches raised their knives and with tightly closed eyes struck blindly out into the air.
"Close in," commanded Jesse sternly, sending a bullet ploughing through the upper lip of either man.