such a mark as that--it's like putting your finger on it. But suppose the
tree was shooting back? Time is what counts then. Now, how does this
strike you? You take the lid on the left and I'll take the other. When
the umpire says Go! we'll begin foggin'--and the man that scores six
hits quickest gets the money. That's fair, isn't it, Johnson?"

This was a slip--Johnson had not given his name--a slip unnoticed by
either of the ZK men, but not by Johnson.

"Fair enough, I should say," he answered.

"Why, Jim, that ain't practical--that ain't!" protested Bill uneasily.
"You was talking about the tree a-shootin' back--but one shot will stop
most men, let alone six. What's the good of shootin' a man all to
pieces?"

"Suppose there was six men?"

"Then they get me, anyway. Wouldn't they, Mr. Umpire?" he appealed to
Peter Johnson, who sat cross-legged and fanned himself with his big
sombrero.

"That don't make any difference," decided the umpire promptly. "To shoot
straight and quickest--that's bein' a good shot. Line up!"

Bill lined up, unwillingly enough; they stuffed their cylinders with
cartridges.

"Don't shoot till I say: One, two, three--go!" admonished Pete. "All set?
One--two--three--go!"