Bull began explaining laboriously.  He pushed back his hat and began to count off his points into the palm of one hand.  “You shot up Uncle Bill Campbell,” he explained.  “It ain’t that I got any grudge agin’ you for that, but you see, Uncle Bill took me in young and give me a home all these years.  I thought it would sort of pay him back if I run you down.  So I walked across the mountains and come after you.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Pete Reeve.  “You walked?”

“Yep,” he went on, heedless of the fact that Pete Reeve was peering earnestly into the face of his companion, now puckered with the earnest frown of thought.  “I come down hoping to get you and kill you.  Besides, that wouldn’t only pay back Uncle Bill.  It would make him think that I was a man.  You see, Reeve, I ain’t quick thinking, and I ain’t bright.  I ain’t got a quick tongue and sharp eyes, and they been treating me like I was a kid all my life.  So I got to do something.  I got to!  I ain’t got anything agin’ you, but you just happen to be the one that I got to fight.  Stand over yonder by that stump.  I’ll stand here, and we’ll fight fair and square.”

Pete Reeve obeyed, his movements slow, as if they were the result of hypnotism.  “Bull,” he said rather faintly, looking at the towering bulk of his opponent, “I dunno.  Maybe I’m going nutty.  But I figure that you come down here to kill me for the sake of getting your uncle to pat you on the back once or twice.  And you find you can’t get at me because I’m in jail, so you work out a murder mystery to get me out, and then you tackle me.  You say you ain’t very bright.  I dunno.  Maybe you ain’t bright, but you’re mighty different!”

He paused and rubbed his forehead.  “Son, I’ve seen pretty good men in my day, but I ain’t never seen one that I cotton to like I do to you.  You’ve saved my life.  How can you figure on me going out and taking yours, now?”

“You ain’t going to, maybe,” said Bull calmly.  “Maybe I’ll get to you.”

“Son,” answered the other almost sadly, shaking his head, “when I’m right, with a good, steady nerve, they ain’t any man in the world that can sling a gun with me.  And tonight I’m right.  If it comes to a showdown—­but are you pretty good with a gun yourself, Bull?”

“No,” answered Bull frankly.  “I ain’t any good compared to an expert like you.  But I’m good enough to take a chance.”

“Them sort of chances ain’t taken twice, Bull!”

“You see,” said Bull, “I’m going to make a rush as I pull the gun, and if I get to you before I’m dead, well—­all I ask is to lay my hands on you, you see?”

The little man shuddered and blinked.  “I see,” he said, and swallowed with difficulty.  “But, in the name of reason, Bull, have sense!  Lemme talk!  I’ll tell you what that uncle of yours was—­”

“Don’t talk!” exclaimed Bull Hunter.  “I sort of like you, partner, and it sort of breaks me down to hear you talk.  Don’t talk, but listen.  The next time that frog croaks we go for our guns, eh?  That frog off in the marsh!”