“No, sir.”
“Are you a good shot with a revolver?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hickok rose lazily, leaving the liquor in his glass.
“Let’s take a walk out of doors,” he said.
They stepped to the front of the saloon and stood looking up and down the street. Some forty yards away a sign hung out over the walk: “Dance Hall and Saloon.”
“I’ll take the right-hand O,” said Hickok quietly.
With the ease of great practice and native genius—and all the Army men rated Hickok as the best shot with rifle or revolver that the West ever saw—he raised one of his weapons to a high level and fired the six shots of the single-action piece with unspeakable rapidity. He carefully returned the gun to its place. He did not look at the sign. He knew!
“That’s fine work, sir,” said Dan McMasters with undisguised enthusiasm. “Your reputation is deserved. Quite often I doubt a man’s reputation as a shot until I see him shoot.”
“How about your own?” demanded Hickok. “I myself never shoot in public. I don’t want anybody to know how I shoot.”