“I did! I did! I never told a lie in all my life–never, never, never! So, there!” and unable to endure such an imputation, the child rushed upon his traducer and pounded him well with the butt of his little rifle.
“Ned! Edward Trent! Stop! You–a little gentleman–mother’s son!”
Jessica’s arms were about her brother, restraining his movements and for a moment making him drop his head in shame. The next he had broken from her grasp, caught up another gun and dragged it toward her.
“Your turn, Jess. Hurry up. There’s just an inch of sun left–I mean there was a minute ago–hurry up! Me an’ Luis’s got to go to bed quick as a wink! Hurry–hurry!”
“Hurry up!” echoed Luis, with a yawn, and dropping down where he stood, was instantly asleep.
John Benton crossed to the visitor’s side and remarked:
“Now, I tell you, stranger, you’ll see the sight of your life. If I was a betting man I’d back Our Lady Jess again’ any other girl-shooter on the globe. You just watch out–if the dark holds off a spell.”
There were a dozen, maybe, of the ranchmen standing or lying around in a semi-circle, but now all quiet and intent upon the little girl, as, nodding and smiling upon her guest and her beloved “boys,” she stepped into the open space before them all. “Forty-niner” March, unerring marksman and the children’s instructor, took his place beside her, examined her rifle, handed it to her and also observed to the stranger:
“Now, if nothin’ happens, you’ll see sunthin’. Sorry it’s so dusk, but any gent what doubt’s is free to walk up to the target and look where the ball strikes. You, lady, do me proud.”
“I’ll try,” said Jessica, simply. “Is it the little nail in the center?”