The man's head snapped back, and he spun half around as he fell, so that the uplifted arm with its threatening weapon was twisted under the heavy bulk that lay quivering and harmless.
Patches coolly bent over the unconscious man and extracted his gun from the holster.

Then, stepping back a few paces, he quietly waited.
Yavapai Joe, who had viewed the proceedings thus far with gaping mouth and frightened wonder, scrambled into his saddle and reined his horse about, as if to ride for his life.
"Wait, Joe!" called Patches sharply.
The weakling paused in pitiful indecision.
"Nick will be all right in a few minutes," continued the stranger, reassuringly.

"Stay where you are." Even as he spoke, the man on the ground opened his eyes.

For a moment he gazed about, collecting his shocked and scattered senses.

Then, with a mad roar, he got to his feet and reached for his gun, but when his hand touched the empty holster a look of dismay swept over his heavy face, and he looked doubtfully toward Patches, with a degree of respect and a somewhat humbled air.
"Yes, I have your gun," said Patches soothingly.