Mr. George Bemis was dismally formidable. George Bemis was our fellow
traveler. We had never seen him before. He wore in his belt an old
original “Allen” revolver, such as irreverent people called a
“pepper-box.” Simply drawing the trigger back, cocked and fired the
pistol. As the trigger came back, the hammer would begin to rise and the
barrel to turn over, and presently down would drop the hammer, and away
would speed the ball. To aim along the turning barrel and hit the thing
aimed at was a feat which was probably never done with an “Allen” in the
world. But George’s was a reliable weapon, nevertheless, because, as one
of the stage-drivers afterwards said, “If she didn’t get what she went
after, she would fetch something else.”
And so she did. She went after a deuce of spades nailed against a tree,
once, and fetched a mule standing about thirty yards to the left of it.
Bemis did not want the mule; but the owner came out with a
double-barreled shot-gun and persuaded him to buy it, anyhow.