Then he faced Bull again, but he faced the big man with half his confidence destroyed.

As he had said, he felt worse than naked without his revolvers under his touch, but now he attempted to brave out the situation.
"Well," he said jocularly, "what you going to accuse me of, Bull Hunter ?" "I'm just going to tell a little story that I been thinking about," said Bull.
"Story--nothing!" exclaimed Anderson.
"Wait a minute," broke in Jud.

"Let him tell this his own way--I think you'd best, sheriff!" Bull was looking at the sheriff and through him into the distance.
After all, it was a story, as distinctly a story as if he had it in a book.

As he began to tell it, he forgot Sheriff Anderson at the farther end of the table.

He talked slowly, bringing the words out one by one, as if what he said were coming to him by inspiration--a kind of second sight.
"It starts in," said Bull, "the other night when the gent come in with word that Pete Reeve was out playing cards with Armstrong and losing money.