“Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth.
The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
“Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,” ordered Abe's interlocutor.
With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former statement.
“If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?” bluntly queried the cowboy.
“Why—he set down thar—an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.”
What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
“Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,” he said.
That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
“I'm Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. “It was this way—”