Gilpin observer., 1904-04-14
window vehemently beckoned him to

WINDOW Vehemently beckOned him to
pause.
Ike Anderson stepped into a saloon
and took straw from a glass stand
Ing on the bar, exercising an exact
and critical taste In its selection. I'm
very thirsty" he remarked plaintive-
ly. Saying which, he shot hole in a
barrel OF whisky, inserted the straw.
and drank lingeringly.
Thank you," he said softly, and
shot the glass of straws of the coun.
ter. Thank you. Not after me-"
The whisky ran out over the floor, out
OF the door, over the path and into
the road. but no one raised a voice in
rebuke.
The blue flame burned trifle higher
in Ike Anderson's brain. He was
growing very much intoxicated, and
therefore very quiet and very sober
looking. He did not yell and flourish
his revolvers, but walked along de-
Gently, engaged in thought. He passed
by the front Of the Cottage Hotel. A
negro boy, who worked about the
place, was sweeping idly at the porch
door, shu1ling lazily about at his en-
ployment. Ike paused and looked
amiably at him for some moments.
Good morning, colored scion," he
said pleasantly.
"Mawnin', boss" said the negro.
grinning widely.
"Colored scion," said Ike, hereafter
to oblige me-would you mind
whoopin' it up with yore broom a
leetle faster?"
The negro scowled and muttered,
and the next moment sprang sprawl
ing forward with a scream Ike had
shot off the heel of his shoe, in the
process not sparing all of the foot.
The negro swept as he had never
swept before. Twice bullet cut the
floor at his feet, and at last the stick
of the broom was shattered in his
hand. "Colored scion," said Ike An
derson, as though in surprise, "yore
broom is damaged. Kneel down and
pray for another" The negro knelt
and surely prayed.
On all sides swept the wide and
empty streets. 1t was Ike Anderson's
town. A red film seemed to his gaze
to come over the face of things. He
slipped his revolver back into the
scabbard and paused again to think.
A quick footstep sounded on the walk
behind him, and he wheeled, still puz-
zled with the red film and the mental
problem.
The sheriff stood quietly facing him.
with his thumbs resting lightly in his
belt. He had not drawn his own re-
volver. He was chewing a splinter.
Ike" said he, throw up your hands,"
The nerves of some men act more
quickly than these of others, and
such men make the most dangerous
pistol shots, when they have good di-
gestion and long practice at the rapid
drawing Of the revolver, an art at
that time much cultivated. Ike An
derson's mind and nerves and mus
cles were always lightning-like in the
instantaneous rapidity of their action.
The eye could scarce have followed
the movement by which the revolver
leaped to level from his right-hand
scabbard. He had forgotten, in his
moment of study, that with his six
shooter he had fired once at the whis-
gy barrel, once at the glass of straws,
once at the negro's heel, twice at the
floor, and once at the broomstick. The
click on the empty shell was heard
clearly at the hotel bar, distinctly
ahead of the double report that fol-
lowed. For, such was the sharpness
of this mans mental and muscular
action. he had dropped the empty re-
volver from his right hand and drawn
the other with his left hand in time
to meet the fire of the sheriff.