Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing ?" "I'll keep tryin', Pete.

But I'll never get much faster.

You see, my arm--it's too big, too heavy.

It gets in my way, handling a little thing like a revolver!" Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster so incredibly fast that the steel hissed against the leather.
"There you go running yourself down," he muttered.
He began to pace the room again, biting his nether lip, and now and then shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partly scornful.

Presently he came to a halt.