BILL JORDAN
The ranch-house itself was a long, low building, with broad porches on two sides of it built on the Arizona style; and nearby were several other out-buildings and two or three large corrals. Some of the ranch-hands lounged about the yard, and took charge of the horses and wagon and carried the luggage into the house. The rooms were large and airy, with many windows; and the coolness was a relief after the long ride in the blazing sun.
After a good dinner, prepared by Sing Wong, the Chinese cook, Jordan showed Mr. Sherwood over the ranch, Whitey following, an interested listener and spectator of all that was said and shown. Whitey had lost no time in unpacking the trunk that contained his rifle, and carried it with him on the tour of the ranch, handling it in a way that showed that the drill given him by his father had not been wasted.
Bill Jordan examined the rifle and pronounced it a good one. "The question is," said Bill, banteringly, "kin you hit anythin' with it? The gun's all right, but how good kin you pint it?" and he handed the gun back to Whitey.
"Well," said Whitey, "I don't think I'm a very good shot—I've only shot a rifle a few times in a shooting-gallery—but if you'll pick out a mark, I'll see what I can do."
"All right," said Bill, "I'll do it." He took off his broad brimmed Stetson and handled and brushed it fondly. "I think a heap o' this here hat, Son, but I'm goin' to resk you havin' one chance at it, purvidin' the distance is reasonable." And Bill walked about twenty yards away and hung the hat on a post and rejoined them. Whitey prepared to aim, and Mr. Sherwood was about to interfere, but at a sign from Bill, he refrained.
"What'll you bet you hit it?" asked Jordan, banteringly—"the first time you pull the trigger, I mean?"
"I don't bet," said Whitey, "but I think I can hit it."
"I guess you're a pretty level-headed kid," said Bill, "that bettin' thing ain't much good—I wisht I never'd made no bets," he added, reminiscently. "But I don't think y' kin hit it—not under present circumstances, I don't. I don't think that there Stetson is in no danger whatsumever!"
Whitey grinned and took careful aim and pulled the trigger. There was only the snap of the hammer and no report. Whitey looked at the rifle and then at the grinning Bill.
"What did I tell you!" said the latter, exultantly.
Whitey examined the rifle and then announced, disgustedly, "There wasn't any cartridge in it!"
"Jesso," said Bill, opening his big hand and showing Whitey the cartridge that he had removed from the gun when he had taken it into his hands for the ostensible purpose of examining it. "Jesso," he repeated. "I played it sort o' low-down on yo' so's to show yo' somethin'. There was jest two reasons why you wasn't goin' to let fly no bullet at that hat—mebbe three."
"What were they?" asked Whitey.
"Well," said Bill, "unless you're in a big hurry, always examine your gun 'fore yo' shoot, to see that everythin' is O. K. An' another an' more important thing is, always look where you're shootin'. If yo'll jest cast yer eye over and beyond that hat, you'll see there's two cow-punchers a-leanin' agin that corral—not right in line—but in that direction. I admit that a cow-puncher ain't worth much," said Bill, grinning at one or two of the boys who stood near watching the performance, "but 't ain't a good thing to shoot 'em up—'specially with no twenty-two's! The third reason is that's a mighty good hat—I paid eighteen bucks fer her!"
Whitey readily admitted the first two propositions, and said he would be careful anything like that did not occur again; but when Bill started to get his hat, Whitey said, "Just a moment, Mr. Jordan," and Bill stopped and looked at Whitey inquiringly.
"You offered to make me a bet, didn't you?" Whitey asked.
"Yes, I guess I did," said Bill, scratching his head. "What about it?"
"Well," said Whitey, "I always heard that if a fellow didn't have a chance to win, then he didn't have a chance to lose. That's so, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," admitted Bill, "I guess that's right 'nuff."
"Then," said Whitey, resolutely and with conviction, "I think I'm entitled to a real chance at that hat!"
This was a bomb-shell in Bill Jordan's camp. The cow-punchers who had gathered around heartily endorsed Whitey's argument. "The Kid's right! Come on, Bill! Be game! Give him a chance!" came from all sides, coupled with loud laughter and slaps on Bill's broad back.
Bill scratched his head and grinned in great apparent apprehension. "Looks like the majority was agin me," he said, finally, looking ruefully at the Stetson and calling to the cow-punchers at the corral to get out of the way. "An' that is a good hat, too! All right! Fire away! I throws myself on the mercy o' the co't! But say, Son, have a heart! You're shootin' at eighteen dollars wo'th o' hat!"
Whitey took careful aim and fired, and the hat flew up into the air and fell in the dust. A loud yell went up from the boys as several of them ran and picked it up and brought it to Bill, who examined the hole in it ruefully. "She's ventilated now, all right," he said, "an' I reckon it'll be some lengths o' periods 'fore I tries to put anythin' over on this here kid again! If I ever do so far fergit myself, I got this here ventilator in my sky-piece to remind me!"
It was plain, however, that Bill was tickled at the way Whitey had handled the situation, and "making a hit" with Bill Jordan meant something on the Granville ranch.