Such remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
"Speakin' of this here swift wrist game," went on Euchre, "there's been considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun.

You know, Buck, thet among us fellers--us hunted men--there ain't anythin' calculated to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun.

I heard Bland say this afternoon--an' he said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd never seen your equal.

He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just couldn't follow your hand when you drawed.

All the fellers who seen you meet Bosomer had somethin' to say.