But he did not shoot.
The weapon in his hand began to sag curiously, the fingers holding it slowly slipping from the stock.

And the man's face--thin and seamed--became chalklike beneath the tan upon it.

His eyes, furtive and wolfish, bulged with astonishment and recognition, and his mouth opened vacuously.
"Deal Sanderson!" he said, weakly.

"Good Lord! I didn't git a good look at yon! I'm in the wrong pew, Deal, an' I sure don't want none of your game!" "Dal Colton," said Sanderson.

His voice was cold and even as he watched the other sheathe his gun.