kid ain't got no gun."
Dan had stepped into the engagement quite easily and naturally, and well within the rights of a gentlemah, according to the custom of the country. He stood holding his own weapon with arm shortened against his side, after the manner of a quick and sure shooting man. There was blood on the quarrelsome stranger's mouth, murder in his sullen eyes. He turned his head to glare on Dan, reading at a glance something in the young man's eyes that would admit no argument. Then he slowly and sulkily returned the pistol to his holster, saying nothing, only opening his mouth to empty it of the blood that was already overflowing down the dusty stubble of his chin.
"If you want to stand up and fight him like a man, I'm willin'," Dan offered cheerfully.
"I'll hang your hide over the fence," the ruffian promised, turning to go.
The sailor, who had stepped back as nimbly as from a redhot iron when he saw the pistol at his breast, offered Dan his hand with a sort of shame-faced grin.
"Thanks, old feller," said he. "He took the wind out of me for a minute—I don't fight that way."
"Sure you don't, kid," said Dan, heartily.
The fight had drawn a good many people from along the street; the noise of their coming and gathering in front of the hotel attracted the customers from Grimmitt's bar. It drew Grimmitt with them; he appeared in the door drying his hands on his apron, just as the wolf hunter turned, his gun reluctantly restored to the scabbard, and went off to mount his horse.
