“Tell the new sheriff,” he called, as he sat easily in the saddle, “that I’ve heard of him, and that I’ll organize a little party for him as soon as possible so that we can get better acquainted. Tell him that the one thing he lacks to make him a good fighting man is a sense of humor.”
Lefty Cornwall heard this message in silence the while he spat with vicious precision into a distant spittoon. Afterward, and still in silence, he retired and worked for an hour cleaning his already shining revolver and patting and oiling the holster. He performed these grave functions in the house of the mayor, and that dignitary announced later that he had wound up by practising the draw and point, walking and sitting down, and at every angle. The mayor was impressed past speech.
When Lefty issued at last he found a score of hard riders standing by their horses in the street.
“An’ what might all this here gang be for?“…