Finally he planted the muzzle firmly between his fat legs, rested both hands on the butt, and looked about him triumphantly.
"God knows!" ejaculated the tall man; "but you can shoot at this." He drew an envelope from his pocket, and turned toward a small board box resting against the stump of a tree. Bill Martin started forward in alarm.
"Hol' on!" cried he, "I got some chickens in that thar coop!"
The tall man turned and wrung his hand in a mock access of gratitude. "Thank you! thank you!" he cried fervently. "To think how near I came to having the blood of those innocent chickens on my head! I shall never cease to feel grateful to you, sir!"
He marched over to the coop and pinned the envelope square in the middle of it.
"There," said he, stepping back with an air of satisfaction. "Now the chickens are perfectly safe!"
The proprietor grinned very doubtfully. Several men laughed, one after the other, as the joke penetrated.
"You go to hell, Steve," said the fat man, bubbling all over.
He raised the long six-shooter with an easy gesture.
"They're just as good as meat!" he asserted confidently as he squinted over the sights. A breathless pause ensued.
"Always cock your pistol before shooting," Frank finally admonished in a soft and didactic voice.
Murphy, red-faced, muttered something about self-cockers and tried again. This time the pause was succeeded by a deafening report, and the pistol leaped wildly. From the coop burst a single frightened squawk. Murphy beamed.
All crowded about the box, examining for the bullet hole. On the instant, Frank became wildly and triumphantly excited, dancing about the motionless end of an index finger which pointed toward the unscratched coop. The marksman looked nonplussed for a single instant. Then his face cleared.
"It went right in through that!" he claimed arrogantly, pointing the barrel of the revolver toward a small knot hole. The other two men at once gave vent to snorts of derisive contempt. "Prove that it didn't," insisted the fat one. "Just prove that it didn't, and I'll pay up." He tucked his thumbs into the lower pockets of his waistcoat, supporting the revolver pendent on one forefinger, and smiled broadly.
Billy's straightforward mind saw no diplomacy beyond the inexorable logic of the situation. "Thar ought t' be a bullet hole in th' other side of th' coop then," he suggested in a modest voice.