shot down in cold blood by the likes of you, Curly. The chap ye want
to kill is worth ten of you any day. An' as fer shootin', why, ye
wouldn't have a peek in with him if he had a gun."

"Give him one, then, and see how he can shoot," was the surly reply.

"But give me that first," and Samson laid his hand upon Curly's
revolver.

"What for?"

"Never mind; I'll explain later, so jist let go. Thar, that's better,"
he commented when Curly had reluctantly obeyed. "Now, look here, I've
got a suggestion to make. Let's settle this racket outside. It's no
use practisin' on human bodies which the Lord made fer something more
important. Whiskey bottles will do as well, an' the more ye smash of
them the better, to my way of thinkin'. So s'pose we stick several of
'em up an' let you two crack away at 'em. That's the best way to find
out who's the real marksman. Anyone got a rifle handy?"

This suggestion was not at all to Curly's liking. He preferred to have
matters all his own way, and his opponent completely at his mercy. But
Frontier Samson, as well as all the miners present, decided otherwise,
and so Curly was forced to bow to the inevitable.

The men entered enthusiastically into this shooting-test, and in a few
minutes three bottles were stuck upon a stump about fifty yards off. A
rifle was procured, which Samson at once handed to Curly.

"Now, shoot, ye beggar," he ordered. "Here's the chance to show what