Watchful, alert, Calumet stepped forward, plucked Taggart's pistol from its holster, threw it a dozen feet from him, swiftly passed a hand over Taggart's shirt and waistband and then stepped back.
"You've got a minute," he said.

"Sixty seconds to decide whether you'd rather die with your boots on or get to talkin'.

Take your time, for there won't be any arguin' afterward." Taggart looked into Calumet's eyes.

What he saw there seemed to decide him.

"I reckon it's your trick," he said; "I'll talk." "Get goin'." "I said I'd made love to her." A half-sneer wreathed Calumet's face.