ade in Germany, it says, and it shore looks like it. It's
got little pins stickin' out of th' cylinder, like you had to swat it
with a hammer or a rock, or somethin' to make it go off. Must be damn
dangerous, to most anybody around. Looks more like a cactus than a
six-shooter-gosh, it's a ten-shooter! I allus said them Dutchmen was
bloody-minded cusses. Think of bein' able to shoot yoreself ten times
before th' blame thing stops!" Then looking at the line-up for the owner
of the weapon, he laughed at the woeful countenances displayed. "Did
they sidle in by companies or squads?" He asked.

"By twos, mostly. Then they parade-rested an' got discharged from duty.
I had eleven, but one got homesick, or disgusted, or something, an'
deserted. It was that cussed flapjack," confessed and explained Mr.
Connors.

"What!" said Mr. Cassidy in a loud voice. "Got away! Well, we'll have to
make our get-away plumb sudden or we'll never go."

At this instant the escaped man again began his bombardment from the
corner of the corral and Mr. Cassidy paused, indignant at the fusillade
which tore up the dust at his feet. He looked reproachfully at Mr.
Connors and then circled out on the plain until he caught a glimpse of
a fleeing cow-puncher, whose back rapidly grew smaller in the
fast-increasing distance.

"That's yore friend, Red," said Mr. Cassidy as he returned from his
reconnaissance. "He's that short-horn yearling. Mebby he'll come back
again," he added hopefully. "Anyhow, we've got to move. He'll collect
reinforcements an' mebby they all won't shoot like him. Get up on yore
Clarinda an' hold th' fort for me," he ordered, pushing the farther
horse over to his friend. Mr. Connors proved that an agile man can mount
a restless horse and not lose the drop, and backed off three hundred
yards, deftly substituting his Winchester for the Colts. Then Mr.
Cassidy likewise mounted with his attention riveted elsewhere and backed
off to the side of his companion.

The bombardment commenced again from the corral, but this time Mr.
Connors' rifle slid around in his lap and exploded twice. The bellicose
gentleman of the corral yelled in pain and surprise and vanished.

"Purty good for a Winchester," said Mr. Cassidy in doubtful
congratulation.

"That's why I got him," snapped Mr. Connors in brief reply, and then
he laughed. "Is them th' vigilantes what never let a man get away?" He
scornfully asked, backing down the street and patting his Winc