“Good gwacious!” cried Cholly. “He shot a bird that was flying in the air, too. He did it dweadful quick.”
Dugan began to look on Merriwell with more respect, although his hatred for the beardless youth who had struck him had not abated in the least.
“I have taken to carrying a revolver myself while in this region,” said Frank, and then, with a snap of his hand that was bewildering in its quickness, he jerked out a revolver and covered Dugan. “You will observe that I am able to draw pretty quick. It’s a trick I learned out West among the cowboys. In the future I shall be looking out for you.”
“All right!” snarled the man. “It’s war between us, an’ I’ll make ye sorry in the end.”
“Get out! I am not going to make any more talk with you. Go!”
“Will you take fifty dollars for that rifle?” asked Dugan, glaring at Archie, who shrank back, trembling.
“No, thir,” was the faint reply.
“You’ll wish ye had!” grated the man, as he turned away.
They watched him till he disappeared from view in the village, and then Cholly turned to Frank, exclaiming:
“How did you dare stwike such a dwedful wuffian?”