by M.L. Bushman
Kept waving, warning, trying to back that horse off some, and Eli opened his eyes. "Cricket, you damn fool," he snapped and slapped his right hip. Shot the ceiling, horse was out the door. Brought his revolver to his chest, folded his left arm over and said, "Listen, friend, if you mean to kill me with that Colt, roll your dice." I liked him instantly.