“No, no! You’ll not have time to close an eye; both eyes are none too many. And you are awkward; you are stiff.” She readjusted my arm and fingers. “That’s better. You see that little rock? Hit it. Cock your weapon, first. Hold firmly, not too long. There; I think you’re going to hit it, but hold low, low, with the wrist. Now!”
I fired. The sand obscured the rock. She clapped her hands, delighted.
“You would have killed him. No—he would have killed you. Quick! Give it to me!”
And snatching the revolver she cocked, leveled and fired instantly. The rock split into fragments.
“I would have killed him,” she murmured, gazing tense, seeing I knew not what. Wrenching from the vision she handed back the revolver to me. “I think you’re going to do, sir. Only, you must learn to draw. I can tell you but I can’t show you. The men will. You must draw swiftly, decisively, without a halt, and finger on trigger and thumb on hammer and be ready to shoot when the muzzle clears the scabbard. It’s a trick.”
“Like this?” I queried, trying.
“Partly. But it’s not a sword you’re drawing; it’s a gun. You may draw laughing, if you wish to dissemble for a sudden drop; they do, when they have iron in their heart and the bullet already on its way, in their mind. I mustn’t stay longer. Shall we go to 220 the fire now? I am cold.” She shivered. “Daniel is waiting. And when you’ve delivered me safe you’d better leave me, please.”
“Why so?”
She smiled, looking me straight in the eyes.
“Quién sabe? To avoid a scene, perhaps; perhaps, to postpone. I have an idea that it is better so. You’ve baited Daniel far enough for to-night.”