“I’d do it in a minute if I wasn’t afraid. You remember the story of that neighborhood row I told you last night, don’t you?”
“Yes; and if I were in your place I’d raise another. There’s nobody in sight, and how is the owner of the cattle going to know who did the shooting? Knock one of ‘em over! I dare you to do it!”
Ned hesitated. He had talked bravely enough, when in the presence of his cousin, about doing this very thing, but since that time he had seen a fight, had heard the reports of firearms and the yells of excited and angry men, and thought he had some faint conception of the scenes that had been enacted during that neighborhood row, and which would, no doubt, be repeated if another should arise. But here was his fine field of wheat so nearly destroyed that it would not pay for the harvesting; within easy rifle shot of him were some of the cattle which had done the mischief and which probably belonged to one of the neighbors who wouldn’t visit with him or his father because they wore good clothes and claimed to be gentlemen; and there was no one in sight.
“Knock one of them over,” repeated Gus, “and perhaps it will teach their owner to keep his stock out of the way of your field, the next time you plant wheat in it. Hand me your gun, and I’ll show you that I am Gus Robbins yet, and not afraid to do anything.”
The boy leaned forward in his saddle as he said this, and taking the rifle out of his friend’s grasp, rode toward the cattle (there were probably a dozen of them in all) which were dashing along the fence and trampling down the wheat that had escaped destruction during their former raids. As Gus approached them, they charged in a body in the direction of the gap; but instead of going through it they ran on by, kicking up their heels and shaking their heads as if they enjoyed the sport. While Ned galloped through the field to head them off, Gus dismounted, and taking his stand near the gap, cocked the rifle in readiness to shoot one of the herd the next time they went by.
Ned succeeded in turning the cattle after a short race, and, as before, they took no notice of the gap, but dashed by it and started for another gallop around the field. At that moment the rifle cracked, and one of the finest steers in the herd threw his head and tail higher in the air, galloped faster for a short distance, then sank to his knees and rolled over on his side. By the merest chance, Gus had sent a bullet smaller than a buckshot into some vital part, and there was one less steer in somebody’s herd to break down fences and destroy wheat crops.
“What do you think of that?” cried Gus, in great glee.
“It was a splendid shot,” replied Ned, who just then rode up and extended his hand for the rifle. “You did it, didn’t you? Since we have begun the work, we’ll do it up in shape. If they won’t go out they can stay in; but they’ll stay dead!”
The horse that Gus rode, having been broken to stand fire, was not at all alarmed by the report of the rifle. He allowed the boy to catch and mount him again, and by the time he was fairly in the saddle, Ned had placed a fresh cartridge in his rifle. “You head them off and drive them back,” said he, “and I’ll wait here at the gap to salute them as they go by.”
In accordance with this request Gus rode off, and in a few minutes the herd came dashing along the fence again. They must have been growing tired of the sport by this time, for they headed straight for the gap, and all got through; but one of them carried a bullet somewhere in his body, the effects of which very soon became apparent. The rest of the herd began to leave him behind, and when he followed them over a ridge, which lay about a quarter of a mile from the field, he was staggering about as if he could scarcely keep his feet.