"Have you any curiosity in the matter? If you think you can get your
gun first . . . why, then, go to it!"
Galloway eased himself in the saddle.
"If I thought I could beat you to it," he answered tonelessly, "I'd do
it. As you know. If I even thought that I'd have an even break with
you," he added, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they took stock of
the sheriff's right hand swinging free at his side and never far from
the butt of the revolver fitting loosely in his holster, "I'd take the
chance. No, you're a shade too lively in the draw for me and I happen
to know it."
For a little they sat staring into each other's eyes, the distance of
ten steps between them, their right hands idle while their left hands
upon twitching reins curbed the impatience of two mettled horses. As
was usual their regard was one of equal malevolence, of brimming, cold
hatred. But slowly a new look came into Norton's eyes, a probing,
penetrating look of calculation. Galloway was again opening his lips
when the sheriff spoke, saying with contemptuous lightness:
"Jim Galloway, you and I have bucked each other for a long time. I
guess it's in the cards that one of us will get the other some day.
Why not right now and end the whole damned thing?--When I'm up against
a man as I am against you I like to make it my business to know just
how much sand has filtered into his make-up.
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