“No, indeed. I’ve never fired it in all these years. You have heard of an eccentric genius known by the name of Wild Bill—it belonged to him. I was enabled to do him a favor, and he insisted on giving me this. A month later he passed in his checks, poor fellow.”
“You mean he was killed?”
“Yes, and the man who shot Hickok was too much of a coward to face him, but entered the room where he played cards, and shot Wild Bill in the back. He paid the piper, though.”
“Judge Lynch held court?”
“Well, he got away at first, but the boys just up and howled. There was a trial, and in the end the matter was settled.”
“By the way, is it loaded?”
“I reckon not, but that don’t count. I depend on the general appearance of things to intimidate. If that fails me, here is another Texan trick.”
How he does it the Canadian never knows, but this wonderful genius, once actor, tramp, cowboy, and now stockbroker, puts his hand up to the back of his neck and draws out a most formidable weapon—half knife, half sword—a curiosity that would charm a collector, rusty in spots, even nicked and shabby, yet showing signs of former splendor as a Texan bowie.
“You see I had my choice of this and a Mexican machete I own among my curios, and I took this because it lies so charmingly along one’s back under the coat—its shape was adapted to that very purpose by Colonel Bowie, who invented it, and I assure you, Aleck, I have positive proof that this is the identical weapon he fashioned himself and used to such advantage.”
Craig throws up his hands.