"The hat? Ah," mocked the captain, "if the señor hits it, I will pay for it with gold."
Kid Wolf drew his left-hand Colt so quickly that no man saw the motion. Before they knew it, there was a sudden report that rolled out like thunder—six shots, blended into one stuttering explosion. He had emptied his gun in a breath!
A gust of wind blew away the cloud of black powder smoke, and the crowd
stared. Then some one began to laugh. It was taken up by others.
Even the customers in the booths chuckled at Kid Wolf's discomfiture.
The captain's laugh was the loudest of all.
"Six shots the señor took," he guffawed, "and missed with them all! Ah, didn't I tell you that the Americans are bluffers, like their game of poker? This one carries two guns and cannot use even one!"
Kid Wolf smiled quietly. A faint look of amusement was in his eyes.
"Maybe," he drawled, "yo'-all had bettah look at that hat."
Curiously, and still smiling, some of the loiterers went over to examine the target. When they had done so, they cried out in amazement. It was true that just one bullet hole showed in the front of the sombrero. The captain's shot had drilled that one. Naturally all had supposed that the gringo had missed. Such was not the case. All of Kid Wolf's six bullets had passed through the captain's bullet mark! For the back of the hat was torn by the marks of seven slugs! Some one held the sombrero aloft, and the excited crowd roared its approval and enthusiasm. Never had such shooting been seen within the old city of Santa Fe.
The Spanish captain, after his first gasp of surprise, had nothing to say. Chagrin and disgust were written over his face. If ever a man was crestfallen, the captain was. He hated to be made a fool of, and this quiet man from Texas had certainly accomplished it.
He was about to slink off when Kid Wolf drawled after him:
"Oh, captain! Pahdon, but haven't yo' forgotten somethin'?"