They bore him no ill will.
Manifestly they were aware of Mrs.Bland's infatuation.
"Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before." "Shore.

Wal, it's happened before." This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane.
He did not choose to ignore them any longer.
"Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's name again.

My hand is nervous and itchy these days." He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in no wise weakened it.

Then his latter remark was significant to a class of men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until they wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in the very deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the simplest and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip.
There was something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand.

It never seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an awkward position.
There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his possibilities.