“J’ine me, folks, in a lettle beverage, for I’m bettin’ high it will be ther Simon-pure article. Does yer catch on?”
They “caught on” with alacrity, and with the upturned face of Shuffles, the eyes wide open staring into his own, Pistols poured his glass full to the brim and dashed it down his throat.
A hush had fallen upon the crowd during this scene, and a few of the timid ones, or, rather, those who wished to avoid being in a row, silently withdrew from the building.
There were several who felt that Buffalo Bill was making a sad mistake in having accepted the challenge of Pistols, while others knew that had he not done so, a row would have been precipitated at once, for he would certainly have insulted the scout then and there.
A few now hastened to tell Buffalo Bill, who had not risen from his seat, that Pistols had just killed Shuffles, and had then taken a tumblerful of whisky, so was in a dangerous mood.
“He didn’t have quite enough ter brace him fer trouble with you, pard, for he has heerd o’ you, as we all has, and that’s why he got more. He’s primed now, and will go off like a hair-trigger,” a miner said.
“Yaas, so jist go out and let him alone,” another added.
Buffalo Bill smiled serenely. It was a smile that some who saw it felt boded mischief. Then he said complacently:
“I never seek trouble, gentlemen, unless I am after a man I know needs running down, and duty compels me. I sought no trouble with your comrade, and merely accepted his challenge, so he can turn it into any game that suits his humor best.”
“Here he comes now,” cried a voice, and just then Pistols was seen approaching the table where Buffalo Bill sat, a cigar between his teeth.