Yuh got your face slapped oncet before by a Flyin' U man, and yuh had it comm'.

Now you're--gittin'-- it--done--right!" If you have ever seen an irate, proletarian mother cuffing her offspring over an empty wood-box, you may picture perhaps the present proceeding of Big Medicine.

To many a man the thing would have been unfeasible, after the first blow, because of the horses.

But Big Medicine was very nearly all that he claimed to be; and one of his pet vanities was his horsemanship; he managed to keep within a fine slapping distance of Dunk.

He stopped when his hand began to sting through his glove.
"Now you keep your hand away from that gun--that you ain't honest enough to carry where folks can see it, but 'ye got it cached in your pocket!" he thundered.