Dick nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure that out, too. Of course, they can climb up on the ledge at the place around to the left where we shinned up and down—that is, the two with good legs can. But will they take a chance on doing that?”
“A chance of getting shot, you mean? I don’t think they’ll be much afraid of that. They’re taking us for a bunch of kids—what Purdick heard over there in Lost Canyon proves that—and they’ll probably think they can scare us off.”
“That brings it right down to brass tacks,” said Dick. “I think we ought to make up our minds just what we’re going to do if the pinch comes. I’ll say, right now, that I’m not much good with a rifle. If I should shoot and try to cripple one of ’em, just as likely as not my hand would shake and I’d kill him. And I wouldn’t want to kill the worst scamp in the world unless I was sure it was the only way to save my own life.”
“I guess we all feel pretty much the same way,” Larry put in. “And I’ll have to admit that I’m with you on the poor marksmanship proposition, too, Dick. You know how it was last summer when Bob Goldrick used to give us an afternoon off in the Tourmaline and let us take his rifle for target practice.”
“I sure do,” said Dick, with a sheepish grin. “Seemed as if neither one of us could hit the side of a barn.”
It was just here that little Purdick surprised his two camp-mates for the second time in one day.
“I can shoot, and shoot straight,” he slipped in quietly.
“You?” queried Dick. “How did you ever learn to handle a gun—in a rolling-mill town?”
Purdick’s smile was reminiscent of some pretty hard times in the past.
“I’ve done mighty nearly everything in the world to earn a living, first and last, as both of you know,” he explained. “One summer I helped in a shooting-gallery, and when business was slack the boss let me practice. When he found out that I had a sort of good eye for it, he’d make me go out in front and start the game—just to show customers how easy it was to make bull’s-eyes. It is easy, too, after you get the knack of it.”