As a shout proclaimed the throwing of the coins, Dan whirled, and it
seemed to the bystanders that a revolver exploded before he was fully
turned; but one of the coins never rose to the height of the throw.
There was a light "cling!" and it spun a dozen yards away. Two more
shots blended almost together; two more dollars darted away in
twinkling streaks of light. One coin still fell, but when it was a
few inches from the earth a six-shooter barked again and the fourth
dollar glanced sidewise into the dust. It takes long to describe the
feat. Actually, the four shots consumed less than a second of time.
"That last dollar," said Dan, and his soft voice was the first sound
out of the silence, "wasn't good. It didn't ring true. Counterfeit?"
It seemed that no one heard his words. The men were making a wild
scramble for the dollars. They dived into the dust for them, rising
white of face and clothes to fight and struggle over their prizes.
Those dollars with the chips and neat round holes in them would
confirm the truth of a story that the most credulous might be tempted
to laugh or scorn. A cowpuncher offered ten dollars for one of the
relics--but none would part with a prize.
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