"Do what you can for him, boys--and I wish one of you would ride over, after Pink gets back, and--let me know how things stack up, will you ?" Incredible as was the situation on the face of it, nevertheless it was extremely matter-of-fact in the handling; which is the way sometimes with incredible situations; as if, since we know instinctively that we cannot rise unprepared to the bigness of its possibilities, we keep our feet planted steadfastly on the ground and refuse to rise at all.

And afterward, perhaps, we look back and wonder how it all came about.
At the last moment Weary turned back and exchanged guns with Andy Green, because his own was empty and he realized the possible need of one--or at least the need of having the sheep-men perfectly aware that he had one ready for use.

The Native Son, without a word of comment, handed his own silver-trimmed weapon over to Irish, and rolled a cigarette deftly with one hand while he watched them ride away.
"Does this strike anybody else as being pretty raw ?" he inquired calmly, dismounting among them.

"I'd do a good deal for the outfit, myself; but letting that man get off--Say, you fellows up this way don't think killing a man amounts to much, do you ?" He looked from one to the other with a queer, contemptuous hostility in his eyes.
Andy Green took a forward step and laid a hand familiarly on his rigid shoulder.

"Quit it, Mig.