Then, placing his second Colt's with the captured weapons, he threw them through the door, being very careful not to lose the drop on his now armed prisoner.
Mr.Travennes looked around and wiped the sweat from his forehead, and being an observant gentleman, took the proffered weapon and walked to the east, directly toward the sun, which at this time was halfway to the meridian.

The glare of its straight rays and those reflected from the shining sand would, in a measure, bother Mr.Cassidy and interfere with the accuracy of his aim, and he was always thankful for small favors.
Mr.Travennes was the possessor of accurate knowledge regarding the lay of the land, and the thought came to him that there was a small but deep hole out toward the east and that it was about the required distance away.

This had been dug by a man who had labored all day in the burning sun to make an oven so that he could cook mesquite root in the manner he had seen the Apaches cook it.

Mr.Travennes blessed hobbies, specific and general, stumbled thoughtlessly and disappeared from sight as the surprised Mr.Cassidy started forward to offer his assistance.
Upon emphatic notification from the man in the hole that his help was not needed, Mr.Cassidy wheeled around and in great haste covered the distance separating him from the hut, whereupon Mr.Travennes swore in self-congratulation and regret.

Mr.Cassidy's shots barked a cactus which leaned near Mr.Travennes' head and flecked several clouds of alkali near that person's nose, causing him to sneeze, duck, and grin.
"It's his own gun," grumbled Mr.Cassidy as a bullet passed through his sombrero, having in mind the fact that his opponent had a whole belt full of .44's.