"I tried that this morning before I left home. All I've got to do
before I begin is to slip an extra cartridge into the cylinder."

Leading his pony, Laramie, clinging to the talk as long as he could,
walked with Kate toward the creek. Leaving her on a slight rise, where
he told her he thought she could see, he got into the saddle and rode
down to where the crowd had assembled.

On a stretch of the trail extending along the creek, John Frying Pan,
under the direction of Sawdy and Van Horn, was placing at intervals of
from fifty to one hundred and fifty yards a series of targets. These
were ordinary potatoes, left over from the barbecue, but selected with
great care as to size and shape by the man whose money was up--Sawdy;
Frying Pan's work was to impale them on low-growing scrub along the
trail to serve as targets. Against these targets--six in
number--Laramie was to undertake to ride and to split five out of the
six as he galloped past them with six and no more bullets. The
potatoes were up when Laramie joined Sawdy, and Lefever with leather
lungs announced the terms of the test. Accompanied by Sawdy, Van Horn
and Frying Pan, Laramie rode slowly down the course--a quarter of a
mile long--examining the roadway and the targets. Here and there a
loose stone was removed from the trail; one potato was moved from a dip
in the course to a safer point; one was raised and one placed more
clearly in sight.

Having ridden to the end, Laramie expressed himself as satisfied with
the conditions. Alone, he went back over the course and starting down
the creek made a trial heat at full speed past the targets. One of
these at his request was shifted again. While he watched this change,
Sawdy and Lefever, surrounded by their followers, were crowding him as
race touts crowd a favorite jockey with final words of admonition and
advice. When the one target was satisfactorily adjusted, Laramie
breaking away from everybody returned alone to the starting point.
Dismounting, and taking his time to everything, he again tested his
cinches, drew his gun from its holster and breaking it slipped a sixth
cartridge into the cylinder. Dropping the gun back into place, he
pulled his hat a little lower, glanced down the course and up toward
the little hill on which he had parted from Kate. She was standing
where he left her but Van Horn had ridden up and, joining Kate, was
talking to her. While she listened to him she watched the pre