However, he was in for it now, and must end as he had begun.
"Give me your gun," he said; "I'll unload it and give it back to you at the gang-plank." "All right, you've got the upper hand," said the man through lips that had gone white.

Drawing his weapon from beneath his vest, he presented it to the officer, butt foremost, hammer underneath.

The cylinder reposed naturally in the palm of his hand, and the tip of his forefinger was thrust through the trigger-guard.
Burrell lowered the barrel of his revolver and put out his left hand for the other's weapon.

Suddenly the man's wrist jerked, the soldier saw a blue flicker of sunlight on the steel as it whirled, saw the arm of Poleon Doret fling itself across the bar with the speed of a striking serpent, heard a smash of breaking glass, felt the shock of a concussion, and the spatter of some liquid in his face.

Then he saw the man's revolver on the floor half-way across the room, saw fragments of glass with it, and saw the fellow step backward, snatching at the fingers of his right hand.