"If that had ever hit me, you never would have known how the other trick is worked," he said, while the cowboys laughed uproariously at the fellow's surprise when he found that his fist had not landed.
"Guess the kid ain't no slouch, eh, Jim?" jeered one.
Jim let go another, then a third one. The third blow proved his undoing. The next instant Jim's boots were describing a half circle in the air over Tad Butler's head. His revolvers slipping from their holsters in transit, dropped to the ground and Jim landed flat on his back with a mighty grunt.
He was up with a roar, his right hand dropping instinctively to his empty holster.
"Wh-o-o-o-e!" warned the fellow's companions. "No fair, Jim. No fair. He said as he'd do it, and he did. Kid, you'd clean out the whole outfit, give you time, I reckon."
Jim pulled himself together, restored his weapons to their places, and walked over to Tad, extending his hand.
"That was a dizzy wallop ye give me, pardner," he said, with a sheepish grin. "If ye'll show me how it's did, I'll call it square."
Tad laughingly did so.
"I guess I couldn't get even with them any easier than by showing them the trick," he grinned, mounting his pony, and accompanied by Philip rode away. "They'll try that trick till the whole bunch of them get into a battle royal."
They did, as Tad learned next day.