so as not to give the Injun an opening, trained his cannon and
pulled the trigger. The old gun opened her mouth and roared like
an earthquake, but I didn't see any dead Injun. Then twice more
she spit fire, and still there weren't any desirable corpses to be
had.

"Say, pardner," says I, "you wouldn't make many cigars at this
game!"

"Now, don't you get oneasy," says he. "Just watch!"

"_Biff_!" says the old gun, and this time, sure enough, the Injun
was knocked clear of the rock. I felt all along that he wouldn't
be much of a comfort to his friends afterwards, if that gun did
land on him.

Still, he wasn't so awful dead, for as we jumped for the horses he
kind of hitched himself to the rock, and laying the rifle across
it, and working the lever with his left hand, he sent a hole plumb
through my hat.

"Bully boy!" says I. I snapped at him, and smashed the lock of his
rifle to flinders. Then, of course, he was our meat.

As we rode up to him, my pard held dead on him. The Injun stood up
straight and tall, and looked us square in the eye--say, he was a
man, I tell you, red-skin or no red-skin. The courage just stuck
out on him as he stood there, waiting to pass in his checks.

My pardner threw the muzzle of his gun up. "D--n it!" says he, "I