Long experience had taught him that there was not another man in the Three B's, with the exception of his own terrible brother, who could get a gun out of the leather faster than he, but now it seemed to Jerry Strann that he was facing something more than mortal speed and human strength and surety.

He could not tell in what the feeling was based.

But it was a giant, dim foreboding holding dominion over other men's lives, and it sent a train of chilly-weakness through his blood.
"It's a habit of mine," said Jerry Strann, "to kill mad dogs when I see 'em." And he smiled again.
They stood for another long instant, facing each other.

It was plain that every muscle in Strann's body was growing tense; the very smile was frozen on his lips.

When he moved, at last, it was a convulsive jerk of his arm, and it was said, afterward, that his gun was all clear of the leather before the calm stranger stirred.