Oh. I didnt mean anything by it, the Preacher grinned. You know Im not a man. Just a messenger of God. Dont usually cotton to guns either, but I hear youre right handy with one and I sure wanted to see the smoker thats done the damage.

Perhaps it was the hint of admiration in his voice, or maybe God intervened to soften Slivers mood, but to everyones surprise, Sliver Pete unholstered his Colt 45 and put it on the table. His eyes glowered about the room as if daring anybody to disapprove.

Preacher Dan calmly retrieved the gun and examined it thoroughly, looking up the barrel and bouncing it gently in his hand to weigh it. Suddenly, unaccountably it slipped from his fingers onto the floor. Kerplunk...

Sliver Pete jumped to his feet, sliding his chair back with a squeal. But just as quick the Preacher leaned over and retrieved the gun, wiping it with his jacket hem and sleeve. Sorry bout that, he said, handing it back.

Better sorry than dead, growled Sliver Pete. But there was a noticeable sigh of relief from the room as he holstered the 45 and sat back down.

After that things seemed to pick up speed as the bets got bigger. Mike McGrew pushed away from the table. Too rich for my blood, he said. Now there were three left at the table, including Sliver and the Preacher, and Sliver Pete was winning big time. He had a small mountain of bills and coins and, recklessly, was playing for bigger and bigger stakes.

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