"I don't see but what I'll have to keep this money. You've shot away all
the cartridges in your belts and most of the box, and it hasn't got you
anywheres," observed Pete Johnson pensively. "Better let your guns cool
off. You boys can't beat each other shooting. You do right well, too,
both of you. If you'd only started at it when you was young, I reckon
you'd both have been what you might call plumb good shots now."

He shook his head sadly and suppressed a sigh.

"Wait!" advised the Texan, and turned to confront his partner. "You make
out quite tol'lable with a gun, Billiam," he conceded. "I got to hand it
to you. I judged you was just runnin' a windy. But have you now showed
all your little box of tricks?"

"Well, I haven't missed anything--not to speak of--no more than you did,"
evaded Bill, plainly apprehensive. "What more do you want?"

Jim chuckled.

"Pausin' lightly to observe that it ought to be easy enough to best you,
if we was on horseback--just because you peek at your sights when you
shoot--I shall now show you something."

A chuck box was propped against the juniper trunk. From this the Texan
produced a horseshoe hammer and the lids from two ten-pound lard pails.
He strode over to where, ten yards away, two young cedars grew side by
side, and nailed a lid to each tree, shoulder-high.

"There!" he challenged his opponent. "We ain't either of us going to miss