It was the fear of death by night! His hands
fell away from the guns. He crossed the room to the bar and nodded his
head at the bartender.
"Drink!" he said, and his voice was only a whisper without body of
sound.
The bartender, with pasty face, round and blank, did not move either
his hand or his fascinated eyes. There was a twitch of the outlaw's
hand and naked steel gleamed. Instantly revolvers showed in every
hand. A youngster moaned. The sound seemed to break the charm.
Silent put back his great head and burst into a deep-throated
laughter. The gun whirled in his hand and the butt crashed heavily on
the bar.
"Drink, damn you!" he thundered. "Step up an' drink to the health of
Jim Silent!"
The wavering line slowly approached the bar. Silent pulled out his
other gun and shoved them both across the bar.
"Take 'em," he said. "I don't want 'em to get restless an' muss up
this joint."
The bartender took them as if they were covered with some deadly
poison, and the outlaw stood unarmed! It came suddenly to Buck what
the whole manoeuvre meant. He gave away his guns in order to tempt
someone to arrest him. Better the hand of the law than the yellow
glare of those following eyes.
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