When they were together, they made a study in contrasts. By seeing one it was possible to imagine the other. For instance, seeing the high, narrow forehead, peaked face, the gray-flecked hair of Pete Reeve, his nervous step, his piercing and uneasy eyes—seeing this man with his body from which all spare flesh was wasted so that he remained only muscle and nerve, it was easy to conjure1 up the figure of Bull Hunter by thinking of opposites.
Their very voices held a world of difference. The tone of Pete Reeve was pitched a little high, hard, and somewhat nasal, and when he was angry his words came shrill2 and ringing. The mere3 sound of his voice was irritating—it put one on edge with expectancy4 of action. Whereas the full, deep, slow, musical voice of Bull Hunter was a veritable sleep producer. Men might fear Charlie Bull Hunter because of his tremendous bulk; but children, hearing his voice, were unafraid.
The motions of Pete Reeve were as fast and as deft5 as the whiplash striking of a snake. The motions of Bull Hunter were premeditated and cautious, as befitting one whose hands might crush what they touched, and whose footfall made a flooring groan7.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall. They had moved a ponderous8 stool into the room so that Bull might have something on which to sit, but long habit had made him uneasy in a chair, and he kept to the floor by preference, with the great square chin resting on his fist and his knee supporting his elbow. That position pressed the forearm against the biceps and the big muscles bulged9 out on either side, vast as the thigh10 of a strong man.
With lionlike wrinkles of attention between his eyes, he listened to the exposition of the little man, and followed his movements with patient submission—like a pupil to whom a great master has consented to unfold the secrets of his brushwork; in such a manner did Bull Hunter drink in the words and the acts of Pete Reeve. And, indeed, where guns were the subject of conversation it would have been hard to find a man more thoroughly11 equipped to pose as an expert than Pete Reeve. That fleshless hand, all speed of motion as it whipped out the gun from the nerve and sinew, became an incredible ghost with the holster and the long, heavy Colt danced and flashed at his fingertips as though it were a gilded12 shadow.
As he worked he talked, and as he talked he strode constantly back and forth13 through the room with his light-falling, mincing14 steps. He grew excited. He flushed. There came a thrill and a ring and a deepening of the voice. For the master was indeed talking of the secrets of his craft.
A thousand men of the mountains and the cattle ranges, men who, for personal pride or for physical need, studied accuracy and speed in gunplay, would have paid untold15 prices to learn these secrets from the lips of the little man. To Bull Hunter the mysteries were revealed for nothing, freely, and drilled and drummed into him through the weeks of his convalescence16; and still the lessons continued now that he was hale and hearty17 once more—as the clean-swept platters from which he ate three times a day gave evidence.
"I've practiced, you admit," said Bull in his slow voice, as Pete Reeve came to a pause. "But I haven't got your way with a gun, Pete. You've got a genius for it. I don't blame you for laughing at me when I try to get out my gun fast. I can shoot straight. That's because I haven't any nerves, as you say, but I'll never be able to get out a gun as fast as a thought—the way you do. Fact is, Pete, I don't think fast, you know."
"Shut up!" exploded Pete Reeve, who had been inwardly chafing18 with impatience19 during the whole length of this speech. "Sometimes you talk like a fool, Bull, and this is one time!"
Bull shook his head. "My arms are too big," he said sadly. "The muscle gets in my way. I can feel it bind20 when I try to jerk out the gun fast. Better give up the job, Pete. I sure appreciate all the pains you've taken with me—but I'll never be a gunfighter."
"No use," he groaned22. "All because you ain't got any confidence, Bull." He leaned forward in his sudden way. "Know something? I been keeping it back, but now I'll tell you the straight of it. You're faster with a gun right now than four men out of five!"
"Fact!" cried Reeve. "You get it out slicker than most; and after it's out, you shoot as straight as any man I've ever seen. Trouble is, you don't appreciate yourself. You've had it drilled into you so long that you're stupid that now you believe it. All nonsense! You got more than a million have and you're fast right now on the draw. Once get hold of how important it is, and you'll keep trying. But you think it's only a game. You just play at it; you don't work! I wish you could have seen me when I was first practicing with a gun! I lived with it. Hours every day it was my companion, and right up to now, there ain't a day goes by that I don't spend some time keeping on edge with my revolver. Bull, you'll have to do the same thing. You hear?"
He sprang up again. It was impossible for him to remain seated a long time.
"You think it don't mean much. Look here!"
The Colt flicked26 into his hand and lay trembling in his palm, and as he talked, it shifted smoothly27, as if of its own volition28, forward toward his fingertips, backward, to the side, dropping out until it seemed about to fall, only to be caught with one finger through the trigger-guard and spun29 up again. Always the heavy weapon was in motion as though some of the nervous spirit of Reeve had entered the heavy metal. It responded to his thoughts rather than to his muscles. Bull Hunter gazed enchanted30. He was accustomed to forgetting himself and admiring others.
"Look here!" went on the little man. "Look at me. I weigh about a hundred and twenty. I'm skinny. I'm a runt. And look at you. You weigh—heaven knows what! No fat, but all muscle from your head to your feet. You're the strongest man that I've ever seen. Take me, I'm not a coward; but you, Bull, you don't know what fear means. Well, there you are, without fear, and stronger than three strong men. You're pretty fast with a gun, and you shoot straight as a hawk31 looks. And still, if we stood face to face and went for our guns, I'd live; and you with your muscle would be dead, Bull."
"I know," Bull nodded.
"That's what this gun means," cried Pete. "This gun, and the fact that I can get it out of the leather faster'n you do. Not very much faster. But by just as much quicker as it takes for an eyelid32 to wink33. That ain't much time, but it's enough time to mean life or death! That's all! I'm not the only man that's faster'n you are. They's others. I've never been beat to the draw, but they's some that's shot so close to me that it sounded like one gun going off—with a sort of a stammer34. And any one of those men would of shot you dead, Bull, if you'd fought 'em. Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing?"
"I'll keep tryin', Pete. But I'll never get much faster. You see, my arm—it's too big, too heavy. It gets in my way, handling a little thing like a revolver!"
Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster so incredibly fast that the steel hissed35 against the leather.
"There you go running yourself down," he muttered.
He began to pace the room again, biting his nether36 lip, and now and then shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partly scornful. Presently he came to a halt. He had also come to a new resolution, one that cost him so much that beads37 of perspiration38 came out on his forehead.
"Bull," he said gravely, "I'm going to tell you the secret."
"You've told me a dozen already," Bull sighed. "You've taught me how to swing the muzzle39 up, and not too far up, and how to lean back instead of forward, and how to harden the arm muscles just as I pull the trigger, and how to squeeze with the whole hand and keep my wrist stiff, and how—"
"None of them things counts," said Pete gravely, almost sadly, "compared to what I'm going to tell you. Stand up!"
It was plain that he was going to give something from the depths of his mind. The cost and importance of it made his eyes like steel and drew his mouth to a thin, straight line.
Bull Hunter arose; and as the great body unfolded and the legs straightened, it seemed that he would never reach his full height. At length he stood, enormous, wide, towering. He was not a freak, but simply a perfectly40 proportioned man increased to a huge scale.
Pete Reeve canted his head back and looked into the face of the giant. There was a momentary41 affectionate appreciation42 in his eye. Then he hardened his expression.
"Let your arm hang loose."
Bull Hunter obeyed. The hand came just above the holster that was strapped43 on his thigh. All these weeks Pete Reeve had kept him from going an instant without that gun except when he slept. And even when he slept the gun had to be under his pillow.
"Because it helps to have it near all the time," Pete had explained. "It sort of soaks into your dreams. It's never out of your mind. It haunts you, like the face of the girl you love. You see!"
Bull Hunter did not see, but he had nodded humbly44, after his fashion, and obeyed. Now, with his arm fallen loose at his side he peered studiously into the face of his master gunman and waited for the next order.
"Draw!"
The command was snapped out; Bull's gun whipped from the holster; and
Pete Reeve drew in the same instant, carelessly, his eyes watching the
Bull followed the example almost reluctantly.
"Nearly beat you that time, Pete," he exclaimed happily. "But maybe you weren't half trying?"
"Beat me?" sneered46 Pete. "I wasn't half trying, but you didn't beat me. I shot you twice before you had your muzzle in line. I shot you in the throat and through the teeth before your gun was ready."
Bull, with a shrug47 of the massive shoulders, touched the mentioned places and looked with awe48 at the little man.
"Now, listen!"
Bull grew tense.
"Watch my draw!"
Pete did not put his hand near the butt49 of his weapon. He held his arm out before him, dangling50 in the air. There was a convulsive moment. One could see the imaginary weapon shoot from the holster and become level and rigid51, pointed52 at its mark.
"I've seen before—fast as my eye could go," Bull sighed.
"Look again," said Pete, gritting53 his teeth with impatience. "This time I'm going so slow a cow could see and beat me."
He made the same motion, but to an ordinary eye it was still as fast as light. Bull shook his head.
"Idiot!" cried Pete, his voice jumping up the scale, flat and harsh and piercing. "It's the wrist! Not the arm, but the—"
He stopped with an expression of dismay. Even now he regretted revealing the mystery, it seemed. But then he went on.
"I found out quick that I couldn't beat a good gunman if I used the old methods. Practice makes perfect; they practiced as much as I did. So I studied the methods and the great idea come to me. They all use the whole arm. Look at you! Your shoulder bulges54 up when you make the draw, and you raise the whole arm. Matter of fact, you'd ought only to use your fingers. Not stir a muscle above the wrist. Now try!"
Bull tried—the gun did come clear of the holster.
"No good," he said gravely. "It's magic when you do it, Pete. It just makes a fool of me."
"Shut up and listen!" Pete said sharply. "I'm telling you a thing that'll save your life some day!"
He drew a little closer. His emotion made him swell55 to a greater stature56, and he rose a little on tiptoe as if partly to make up for the differences between their bulks.
Bull obeyed.
"Now start thinking. Start concentrating on that right hand. There's nothing else to your body. You see? You forget you got a muscle. There's three things in the world. You see? Just three things and no more. There's your gun with a bullet in it; there's your hand that's going to get the gun out; and there's your target—that doorknob, say! Keep on thinking. They ain't any more to your body. You're just a hand and an eye. All your nerves are down there in that hand. They're all piled down there. That hand is full of electricity. Don't let your eyes wander. Keep on concentrating. You're stocking the electricity in that hand. When your hand moves, it'll be as fast as the jump of a spark! And when that hand moves, the gun is going to come out clean in it. It's got to come out with it! You hear? It's got to! Your fingertips catch under the butt; they flick25 up. They don't draw the gun; they throw it out of the holster; they pitch the muzzle up, and the butt comes smack57 back against the palm of your hand. And in the same part of a second you pull the trigger. You hear?"
He leaned forward, trembling from head to foot. The eyes of the big man were beginning to narrow.
"I hear; I understand!" he said through his teeth.
"You don't pull the gun. You think it out of the leather. And then the bullet hits the doorknob. You don't move your arm. Your arm doesn't exist. You're just a hand and a brain—thinking! And that thought sends a bullet at the mark!" He leaped back. "Draw!"
Instantly he cried out, alarmed, confused, ashamed.
"I didn't mean to shoot, Pete. I'm a fool! I didn't mean to! It—I sort of couldn't help it. The—the trigger was just pulled without my wanting it to! Lord, what'll people think!"
But Pete Reeve had flung his arms around the big man as far as they would go, and he hugged him in a hysteria of joy. Then he leaped back, dancing, throwing up his hands.
"I made a fool of myself, all right," said Bull, bewildered by this exhibition of joy where he had expected anger.
"Fool nothing! Look at that knob!"
The doorknob was a smashed wreck60, driven into the thick wood of the door by the heavy slug of the revolver. Footsteps were running up the stairs of the hotel. Pete Reeve ran to the door and flung it open.
"It's all right, boys," he called. "Cleaning a gun and it went off. No harm done!"
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1
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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2
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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3
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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4
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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6
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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7
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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8
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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9
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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10
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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11
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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12
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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13
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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14
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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15
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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16
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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17
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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18
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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19
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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20
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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21
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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22
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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23
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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24
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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25
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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26
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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27
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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28
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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29
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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30
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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31
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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32
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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33
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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34
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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35
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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36
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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37
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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38
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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39
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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40
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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41
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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42
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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43
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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44
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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45
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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46
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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48
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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49
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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50
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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51
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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52
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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53
gritting
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的现在分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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54
bulges
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| 膨胀( bulge的名词复数 )； 鼓起； （身体的）肥胖部位； 暂时的激增 | |
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55
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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56
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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57
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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58
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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59
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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60
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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