SOME SHOOTING
By eleven o’clock the Manley boys and their companions were twenty miles
from the X Bar X, and on the first leg of their journey to Nugget Camp.
The day was cool, and the riding was pleasant, even considering the slow
pace they had to take on account of the mules. Silent himself seemed
more cheerful and talked freely of mining conditions and what they might
hope to find at the gold camp.
“Course, it won’t be like a new field. It’s been a mining camp before
this, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it has,” Teddy answered. “But those who worked it barely made a
living wage. Now that this has happened--”
“It’ll start the fireworks,” Nick drawled. “I reckon we’ll see Gus and
the others. Hope so. Gus owes me three bucks.”
“Three bucks will be like nothing to you, once you start picking nuggets
off the ground,” Roy laughed. “I understand they charge five dollars for
a can of beans.”
“Not me, they won’t,” Nick declared forcibly. “I can get along without
beans. Hey!” This to one of the mules. “Think you’re in a peerade? Step
along there!”
“Don’t get him excited,” Roy cautioned.
“He’s got our food on his back. Good thing those cans don’t leak.”
“That reminds me--I saw one of ’em with what looked like a hole in it,”
Nick said suddenly. “I meant to tell you when we were loadin’, only I
forgot. It’s right on top.” He urged his pony close to the mules, and,
reaching down, felt with his hand along the side of the bag carrying the
canned goods. “Uh-huh! She does!”
“Then let’s get it out,” Roy suggested. He dismounted and carefully
untied the bag. The faulty can was near the top, and he found it without
much trouble. “Tomatoes,” he said, holding it up, after tying the bag
again. “Don’t leak much, though.” He climbed into his saddle. “But I
guess it isn’t so good, after air gets to it.”
“You’re right there,” Silent said mildly. “Might as well chuck it away.
Let’s see it.”
Roy threw him the can. He looked at it, and nodded.
“Well, it’ll make a good target,” he declared. “O. K.?”
“Go on, pepper it,” Teddy said. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The puncher rode on ahead and hitched up his belt. He held the can in
his right hand and drew back his arm.
“Let ’er ride!” Nick shouted.
Silent threw the can into the air. Then, so quickly that the eye could
not follow him, he dragged his gun from the holster. The crack of the
revolver awoke the echoes. Five times he fired, as fast as his finger
could pull the trigger. The can bounded about in the air as though
attached to a string.
“Wow!” Teddy gasped. “What a man!”
Silent stared at his smoking gun.
“I may have missed once,” he said casually. “I’ll take a look.”
He slid off his pony and walked to where the can lay.
“Yep,” he said sorrowfully. “Only five holes in it. One of ’em was there
before. I missed a shot.”
“Well, for the love of Pete, you grousin’ about missin’ one in five?”
Nick exclaimed. “Let’s see the can!”
Silent handed it to him. Nick’s eyes opened wide.
“Five nice, clean holes! Hey, you didn’t miss any! One of yore shots hit
the hole that was in it already--it made it bigger! Look!”
Teddy and Roy went closer and gazed at the can. For every hole where the
bullets went in, there was a corresponding one in the other side--one
with the tin bent inward, one with it bent out--and as Nick had said,
there was a hole directly opposite the original perforation.
“Five out of five!” Roy said admiringly. “Say, puncher, where’d you
learn to shoot?”
“Didn’t learn. Had it drilled into me.” Silent responded. “My dad--” he
stopped, and turned his head away. In a moment he had recovered himself
and went on in an even tone: “My pop was one of the best shots in the
West. So was my brother. They’re both dead now.”
“Yes, we know,” Roy said quietly. “Conroy told us.”
“He did?” Silent jerked around, his face pale. “I asked him--Well,” and
his shoulders sank, “then you know. But it was my trouble, an’ I was
aimin’ to keep it to myself. Hang it! For some reason, though, I ain’t
sorry that you found out. Funny, that, ain’t it?” His face wore a
puzzled look, as a child’s does when it cannot understand some emotion.
Teddy laid a hand on Silent’s shoulder.
“I reckon, Silent, it’s because you know we’re friends of yours,” the
boy said. “I’m sorry--and that’s all I can say. If we ever get a
chance--”
“Sure, I know,” Silent responded awkwardly. He got back on his horse.
“You’re all right. Just my tough luck, that’s all. I got an idea,
though. An’ you might as well know that’s the reason I wanted to hit
Nugget Camp. I might get a look at a certain two waddies.” His voice
grew bitter. “Two waddies who shoot men down in cold blood an’ who sport
queer lookin’ guns.”
“Queer looking--” Teddy began, when Roy motioned to him for silence.
The incident served to depress the spirits of the party somewhat, and
Nick, realizing this, took the opportunity a jack-rabbit afforded him to
lighten their mood.
“Two bits I catch him!” he shouted. “Watch them mules!”
He brought his hand down sharply on his pony’s flank. The rabbit was
about a hundred yards ahead, running easily.
“Wow!” Nick yelled. “Let’s go, bronc!”
The bronc went. At least, his head went up and his rear lowered. Nick
spread his arms wide and slid gently to the ground.
“Well, you ole leather-bustin’ sidewinder!” Nick exclaimed in pretended
anger. “Who told you to do that?”
The others watched him with amusement. A half smile came to Silent’s
lips.
“Now look-a-here, you.” Nick went close to his pony and whispered into
his ear. The horse nodded several times, aided by Nick’s hand on the
bridle.
“Understand now? Then let’s go!”
With a bound Nick landed in the saddle. He yanked off his hat, slapped
the pony--and promptly slid again to the ground. By this time the rabbit
was miles away.
The horse stood quietly, eyeing his master with a surprised look in his
eyes. Nick, from the ground, shook his fist wildly.
“So that’s it, hey? All right, then! All right!”
He leaped to his feet. As a man might toss a bag of meal, so Nick threw
himself across the saddle, his arms on one side, his legs on the other.
The pony, with a snort, started to run. But not in a straight line. His
course was a circle, with the boys in the center. Faster and faster he
ran, his master bouncing up and down.
Teddy, Roy, and Silent burst into a roar of laughter.
“Get some glue, Nick!”
“Want a rope?”
“Stick to him, kid!”
“Oh, what a bouncing baby boy!”
But Nick did not stick. The fifth time around he released his hold and
catapulted to the ground, landing on his shoulders. The pony stopped
stiff-legged, sliding three feet.
Nick rubbed his head, sat up, and stared at the horse, that stood a
short distance away.
“Honey!”
The pony moved not.
“Sweetie!”
The horse still stood.
“Snookums!”
No sign from the bronc.
“Black Bottom, you ole, lantern-jawed, hook-eyed, son of a sea-cook, if
you don’t trot over here so pronto that yore ears lay back I’ll knock
yore fool carcass so far--”
The horse whinnied, bobbed his head, and walked over to Nick. Then he
bent one knee in supplication.
“Atta baby! _Now_ we’re all right! Hold still!”
Nick arose and climbed slowly into the saddle.
“Needs coaxin’,” he said, grinning. “You gotta talk nice to him if you
want him to do you favors! Come on, baby--we’re off. Get along there,
you mules, you!”