PAINTED ROCK
Ben spoke again, as he looked at Sage's six-shooter.
"Boys shouldn't be allowed to carry weepons," he said. And so saying he jammed the nuzzle of the gun against the beaten man's cheek. He raked his skin with it. Then he took it, "broke" it down, and shot the cartridges out on the bar. Sage cried. I saw tears run down his long moustaches. He shook like an aspen. I heard a horrible laugh outside. I could have struck the man who laughed. But we sat paralysed; not one of us moved, not even when Ben took hold of Sage's moustache and wagged his head to and fro. But I heard the old Colonel groan, and I knew that if he hadn't been maimed he would have done something that the rest of us could not do, or feared to do. For though I knew that Sage-brush's life was safe, I knew that no other's was. A word from anyone now would end in murder.
"Get out of this," said Ben; "get out of my town. Go back to Red River and tell 'em what I've done to you."
He turned the poor wretch round and kicked
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