on, while Cheyenne stepped off fifteen paces.
Bartley's hand trembled a little. Cheyenne noticed it and turned to the
group, saying something that made them laugh. Bartley's fingers tensed.
He forgot his nervousness. Cheyenne whirled and shot, apparently without
aim. Bartley drew a deep breath, and glanced at the card. The black pip
was cut clean from the center.

"That's easy," asserted Cheyenne. Then he took a silver dollar from his
pocket, laid it in the palm of his right hand, hung the gun, by its
trigger guard on his right forefinger, lowered his hand and tossed the
coin up. As the coin went up the gun whirled over. Then came the whiz of
the coin as it cut through space.

"About seventy-five shots like that and I'm broke," laughed Cheyenne.
"Anybody's hat need ventilatin'?"

"Not this child's," asserted Lon Pelly. "I sailed my hat for him onct.
It was a twenty-dollar J.B., when I sailed it. When it hit it sure
wouldn't hold water. Six holes in her--and three shots."

"Six?" exclaimed Bartley.

"The three shots went clean through both sides," said Lon.

Cheyenne reloaded his gun and dropped it into the holster.

Later, Bartley had a talk with Cheyenne about the proposed trailing of
the stolen horses. Panhandle's name was mentioned. And the name of
another man--Sneed. Cheyenne seemed to know just where he would look,
and whom he might expect to meet.

Bartley and Cheyenne were in the living-room that evening talking with
the Senator and his wife. Out in the bunk-house those of the boys who
had not left for the line shack were discussing horse-thieves in general
and Panhandle and Sneed in particular. Bill Smalley, a saturnine member
of the outfit, who seldom said anything, and who was a good hand but a
surly one, made a remark.

"That there Cheyenne is the fastest gun artist--and the biggest coward
that ever come out of Wyoming. Ain't that right, Lon?"

"I never worked in Wyoming," said Long Lon.

CHAPTER XI

PONY TRACKS

Mrs. Senator Brown did not at all approve of Bartley's determination to
accompany Cheyenne in search of the stolen horses. Late that night, long
after Cheyenne had ceased to sing for the boys in the bunk-house, and
while Bartley was peacefully slumbering in a comfortable bed, Mrs. Brown
took the Senator to task for not having discouraged the young Easterner
from attempting such a wild-goose chase. The Senator, whose diameter
made the task of removing his boots rather diffi