But Coyote never wilts.

He moves so quick no one ever does locate the darkened recess of his garments from which he lugs out that knife; the first p'inter any of 'em gets is that with the same breath wherein Peets puts the six-shooter on him, Coyote's organised in full with a bowie.
"'Make a centre shot, you villyun!' roars Coyote, an' straight as adders he la'nches himse'f at Peets's neck.
"Son, it's the first an' last time that Doc Peets ever runs.

An' he don't run now, he flies.

Peets comes pourin' through the door an' into the street, with Coyote frothin' after him not a yard to spar'.

The best thing about the whole play is that Coyote's a cripple; it's this yere element of lameness that lets Peets out.