William MacLeod Raine

“ Struve glared at him, speechless.
"You're too slow on the draw for this part of the country, my friend," jeered Briscoe. "Or perhaps, while you were at Yuma, you got out of practice. It's like stealing candy from a kid to beat you to it. Don't ever try to draw a gun again in Lost Valley while you're asleep. You might never waken."
Jed was in high good humor with himself. His victim looked silent murder at him.
"One more thing, while you're in a teachable frame of mind," continued Briscoe. "I run Lost Valley. ”

“ Johnson. In this neck of woods a man is liable to get himself disliked if he shoots off his mouth too prevalent. Folks that don't like our ways can usually find a door open out of Lost Valley—if they don't wait too long!"
"I'm some haidstrong. I reckon I'll stay." He scowled at Jed with disfavor, meeting him eye to eye. But presently the rigor of his gaze relaxed. Me remembered that he was a fugitive from justice, and at the mercy of this man who had so far guessed his secret. Putting a temporary curb on his bilious jealousy, he sulkily added: "Leastways, if there's no objection, Mr. Briscoe. ”

“ Briscoe announced.
The escaped convict's mouth set in a cruel line.
"One of us, either him or me, never leaves this valley alive," he announced.
Jed laughed softly and handed back the revolver. "That's the way to talk. My friend, if you mean that, you'll need your gun. Here's hoping you beat him to it."
"It won't be an even break this time if I can help it."
"I gather that it was, last time."
"Yep. We drew together." Struve interlarded his explanation with oaths. "He's a devil with a gun. See that?" He held up his right band. ”