"No, you don't," said a puncher. "We ain't givin' our dough away, just
to git rid of it."

"And right recent they was talkin' big," said Cheyenne. "I'll shoot the
spot of a playin'-card, if you'll hold it," he asserted, indicating
Bartley.

The boys glanced at Bartley and then lowered their eyes, wondering what
the Easterner would do. Bartley felt that this was a test of his nerve,
and, while he didn't like the idea of engaging in a William Tell
performance he realized that Cheyenne must have had a reason for
choosing him, out of the men present, and that Cheyenne knew his
business.

"Cheyenne wants to git out of shootin'," suggested a puncher.

That settled it with Bartley. "He won't disappoint you," he stated
quietly. "Give me the card."

One of the boys got up and fetched an old deck of cards. Bartley chose
the ace of spades. Back of the corrals, with nothing but mesa in sight,
he took up his position, while Cheyenne stepped off fifteen paces.
Bartley's hand trembled a little. Cheyenne noticed it and turned to the
group, saying something that made them laugh. Bartley's fingers tensed.
He forgot his nervousness. Cheyenne whirled and shot, apparently without
aim. Bartley drew a deep breath, and glanced at the card. The black pip
was cut clean from the center.

"That's easy," asserted Cheyenne. Then he took a silver dollar from his