"Shorty kin shoot plum' good-tain't him," contradicted Billy.

"Yas-with a six-shooter. He's off'n his feed with a rifle,"
explained Johnny.

"Yu wants to stay down from up there, yu ijit," warned Billy as the
disgusted Johnny crawled up the bank. He slid down again with a welt
on his neck.

"That's somebody else now. He oughter a done better'n that, "he
said.

Billy had fired as Johnny started to slide and he smoothed his
aggrieved chum. "He could onct, yu means."

"Did yu git him?" asked the anxious Johnny, rubbing his welt. "Plum'
center," responded the business-like Billy. "Go up agin, mebby I kin
git another," he suggested tentatively.

"Mebby you kin go to blazes. I ain't no gallery," grinned the now
exuberant owner of the welt.

"Who's got the buffalo?" he inquired as the great gun roared.

"Mus' be Cowan. He's shore all right. Sounds like a bloomin'
cannon," replied Billy. "Lemme alone with yore fool questions, I'm
busy," he complained as his talkative partner started to ask another.
"Go an' git me some water-I'm alkalied. An' git some .45's, mine's
purty near gone."