Every gun in the crowd was instantly at his service. They were heartily tempted to despise Dan, but as one with the courage to attempt the impossible, they would help him as far as they could. He took their guns one after the other, weighed them, tried the action, and handed them back. It was almost as if there were a separate intelligence in the ends of his fingers which informed him of the qualities of each weapon.
"Nice gun," he said to the first man whose revolver he handled, "but I don't like a barrel that's quite so heavy. There's a whole ounce too much in the barrel."
"What d'you mean?" asked the cowpuncher. "I've packed that gun for pretty nigh eight years!"
"Sorry," said Dan passing on, "but I can't work right with a top-heavy gun."
The next weapon he handed back almost at once.
"What's the matter with that?" asked the owner aggressively.
"Cylinder too tight," said Dan decisively, and a moment later to another man, "Bad handle. I don't like the feel of it."
Over Jim Silent's guns he paused longer than over most of the rest, but finally he handed them back. The big man scowled.
