They stood with their right hands resting with rigid fingers low down on their hips, and their eyes, fixed on each other, forgot the rest of the world.
Morgan burst in between them.
"Look here," he thundered, "it's only by way of a favour that I'm lettin' you boys wear shootin' irons today because I promised old Cumberland there wouldn't be no fuss.

If you got troubles there's enough room for you to settle them out in the hills, but there ain't none at all in here!" The gleam went out of their eyes like four candles snuffed by the wind.

Obviously they were both glad to have the tension broken.

Mike wiped his forehead with a rather unsteady hand.
"I ain't huntin' for no special brand of trouble," he said, "but Jack has been ridin' the red-eye pretty hard and it's gotten into that dried up bean he calls his brain." "Say, partner," drawled Jack, "I ain't drunk enough of the hot stuff to make me fall for the line you've been handing out." He turned to Morgan.
"Mike, here, has been tryin' to make me believe that he knew a feller who could drill a dollar at twenty yards every time it was tossed up." The crowd laughed, Morgan loudest of all.
"Did you anyways have Whistlin' Dan in mind ?" he asked.
"No, I didn't," said Mike, "an' I didn't say this here man I was talkin' about could drill them every time.

But he could do it two times out of four." "Mike," said Morgan, and he softened his disbelief with his smile and the good-natured clap on the shoulder, "you sure must of been drinkin' when you seen him do it.