"But—I didn't have any choice!" remonstrated the one selected by fate to be the executioner of the trapped bear.
"Huh, I like that!" laughed Steve. "Why, you had a chance every time one of us stepped up and made a pick. Go on, now, and get ready to do for him, unless you've got cold feet and want to hand it over to somebody else."
But somehow Steve's jeering remarks had stirred Bandy-legs' pride. He looked hard at the other. Then he shut his jaws tight together.
"Thanks! I guess I'll do the job myself!" he remarked.
"With that pop gun of yours?" asked the incredulous Steve.
"No, I'm going to ask Max to lend me his rifle," replied Bandy-legs.
"Much you know about a repeating rifle!" continued his tormentor.
"Well, I did fire it a few times at a target, didn't I, Max?" protested the chosen one.
"You sure did, and really hit the target once," Max hastened to answer, as he exchanged guns with Bandy-legs.
"Huh, that ain't sayin' much, when like as not the target was a barn!"