MacNutt still wore his good-natured grin.
“Maybe not,” he drawled, “but I ain’t shot yet.”
A howl of derision went up from the cowboys.
“Go ahead and shoot, you tenderfoot,” one of them yelled.
Suddenly MacNutt’s hand went up, and he fired six shots in rapid succession; so rapid was the fire that the reports blended together. All the cowboys were grinning broadly, for it looked as though MacNutt had fired at random. Their faces took on a look of wonder, however, when it was seen that the marker was examining the target with extreme care.
“All bull’s-eyes!” he announced as though completely mystified.
Ricker swore roughly.
“Come on, Jim,” he called out impatiently, “that marker’s eyes must be off.”
There was a general rush for the targets, and an exclamation of admiration went up from the cowboys when it was seen that MacNutt’s bullets were grouped closer to the center of the bull’s-eye than were Ricker’s.
“He’s a freak,” Jim Haley spoke up sullenly.