up and shook hands with the boy, who grinned.

"How's the folks?" queried Cheyenne.

"All right. That there is a Luger gun, ain't it?"

"Yes," said Bartley. "Would you like to try it?"

The boy scrambled down from the saddle. "Honest?"

"Ain't you goin' to say hello to your dad?" queried Cheyenne.

"Sure! Only I was lookin' at that Luger gun--"

Jimmy shook hands perfunctorily with his father and turned to Bartley,
expectancy in his gaze.

Bartley reloaded the gun and handed it to the boy, who straightaway
selected the juniper stump and blazed away. Bartley watched him, a
sturdy youngster, brown-fisted, blue-eyed, with sandy hair, and dressed
in jeans and a rowdy--a miniature cow-puncher, even to his walk.

"Ever shoot one before?" queried Bartley as the boy gave back the
pistol.

"Nope. There's one like it, over to the store in San Andreas. It's in
the window. I never got to look at it right close."

"Try it again," said Bartley.