Another burst of laughter and applause went up from the crowd. The missing “n” now appeared on the poster, and its even lines exhibited much more perfect shooting than had the letters stamped by the leaden markers of the Wasp. His triumph had been snatched away from him! Chagrined and flushing, he stood scowling after her.
“Got yuh that time, Wasp!” one of the men before him laughed.
Williams looked down from his horse upon the speaker, a small man notable for his very gray hair and his pleasant expression. The heavy, vertical lines between his eyebrows deepened.
“Mebbe so,” he answered; “mebbe so! But git this idear into that little think-organ o’ yourn, an’ plant it there; I’ll git her ’fore I’m done, an’ what I gits I keeps!”
“You got a full day’s work ahead o’ you, then! There ain’t no ‘fool’s gold’ about that girl!”
“Your tongue is too active for a feller o’ your size, stranger. Reckon you better be movin’!”
The little man paled, but his voice, when he replied, was even and unafraid.
“I never run from nobody yet, an’ I don’t figger to begin now.”
“No? Then stay, since you insists! An’ accept this little token o’ my esteem!”
The revolver of the Wasp darted from his hip, shot forward, and flashed once. The other staggered. He strove to keep his feet, but collapsed in the dust. A couple of bystanders carried him into the nearest house, while some one casually looked for a doctor. One of the bearers, a huge, powerful fellow, swore violently.