BILL JORDAN
The ranch-house itself was a long, low building, with broad porches on
two sides of it built on the Arizona style; and nearby were several
other out-buildings and two or three large corrals. Some of the
ranch-hands lounged about the yard, and took charge of the horses and
wagon and carried the luggage into the house. The rooms were large and
airy, with many windows; and the coolness was a relief after the long
ride in the blazing sun.
After a good dinner, prepared by Sing Wong, the Chinese cook, Jordan
showed Mr. Sherwood over the ranch, Whitey following, an interested
listener and spectator of all that was said and shown. Whitey had lost
no time in unpacking the trunk that contained his rifle, and carried
it with him on the tour of the ranch, handling it in a way that showed
that the drill given him by his father had not been wasted.
Bill Jordan examined the rifle and pronounced it a good one. "The
question is," said Bill, banteringly, "kin you hit anythin' with it?
The gun's all right, but how good kin you pint it?" and he handed the
gun back to Whitey.
"Well," said Whitey, "I don't think I'm a very good shot--I've only
shot a rifle a few times in a shooting-gallery--but if you'll pick out
a mark, I'll see what I can do."
"All right," said Bill, "I'll do it." He took off his broad brimmed
Stetson and handled and brushed it fondly. "I think a heap o' this here
hat, Son, but I'm goin' to resk you havin' one chance at it, purvidin'
the distance is reasonable." And Bill walked about twenty yards away
and hung the hat on a post and rejoined them. Whitey prepared to aim,
and Mr. Sherwood was about to interfere, but at a sign from Bill, he
refrained.
"What'll you bet you hit it?" asked Jordan, banteringly--"the first
time you pull the trigger, I mean?"
"I don't bet," said Whitey, "but I think I can hit it."
"I guess you're a pretty level-headed kid," said Bill, "that bettin'
thing ain't much good--I wisht I never'd made no bets," he added,
reminiscently. "But I don't think y' _kin_ hit it--not under present
circumstances, I don't. I don't think that there Stetson is in no
danger whatsumever!"
Whitey grinned and took careful aim and pulled the trigger. There was
only the snap of the hammer and no report. Whitey looked at the rifle
and then at the grinning Bill.
"What did I tell you!" said the latter, exultantly.
Whitey examined the rifle and then announced, disgustedly, "There
wasn't any cartridge in it!"
"Jesso," said Bill, opening his big hand and showing Whitey the
cartridge that he had removed from the gun when he had taken it
into his hands for the ostensible purpose of examining it. "Jesso,"
he repeated. "I played it sort o' low-down on yo' so's to show yo'
somethin'. There was jest two reasons why you wasn't goin' to let fly
no bullet at that hat--mebbe three."
"What were they?" asked Whitey.
"Well," said Bill, "unless you're in a big hurry, always examine your
gun 'fore yo' shoot, to see that everythin' is O. K. An' another an'
more important thing is, _always look where you're shootin'_. If yo'll
jest cast yer eye over and beyond that hat, you'll see there's two
cow-punchers a-leanin' agin that corral--not right in line--but in
that direction. I admit that a cow-puncher ain't worth much," said
Bill, grinning at one or two of the boys who stood near watching the
performance, "but 't ain't a good thing to shoot 'em up--'specially
with no twenty-two's! The third reason is that's a mighty good hat--I
paid eighteen bucks fer her!"
Whitey readily admitted the first two propositions, and said he would
be careful anything like that did not occur again; but when Bill
started to get his hat, Whitey said, "Just a moment, Mr. Jordan," and
Bill stopped and looked at Whitey inquiringly.
"You offered to make me a bet, didn't you?" Whitey asked.
"Yes, I guess I did," said Bill, scratching his head. "What about it?"
"Well," said Whitey, "I always heard that if a fellow didn't have a
chance to _win_, then he didn't have a chance to _lose_. That's so,
isn't it?"
"Well, yes," admitted Bill, "I guess that's right 'nuff."
"Then," said Whitey, resolutely and with conviction, "I think I'm
entitled to a real chance at that hat!"
This was a bomb-shell in Bill Jordan's camp. The cow-punchers who
had gathered around heartily endorsed Whitey's argument. "The Kid's
right! Come on, Bill! Be game! Give him a chance!" came from all sides,
coupled with loud laughter and slaps on Bill's broad back.
Bill scratched his head and grinned in great apparent apprehension.
"Looks like the majority was agin me," he said, finally, looking
ruefully at the Stetson and calling to the cow-punchers at the corral
to get out of the way. "An' that is a good hat, too! All right! Fire
away! I throws myself on the mercy o' the co't! But say, Son, have a
heart! You're shootin' at eighteen dollars wo'th o' hat!"
Whitey took careful aim and fired, and the hat flew up into the air and
fell in the dust. A loud yell went up from the boys as several of them
ran and picked it up and brought it to Bill, who examined the hole in
it ruefully. "She's ventilated now, all right," he said, "an' I reckon
it'll be some lengths o' periods 'fore I tries to put anythin' over on
this here kid again! If I ever do so far fergit myself, I got this here
ventilator in my sky-piece to remind me!"
It was plain, however, that Bill was tickled at the way Whitey had
handled the situation, and "making a hit" with Bill Jordan meant
something on the Granville ranch.