Before the handful of coins began to drop, The Kid was firing at them. He didn't waste a bullet. With each quick explosion a piece of gold flew off on a tangent. Br-r-rang, cling! Br-r-rang, ting! There were six coins, and The Kid fired six times. He never missed one! He picked the last one out of the air, three feet from the ground.
Goliday watched this exhibition of uncanny target practice with bulging eyes. As the echoes of the last shot died away, he turned on The Kid with a bellow of wrath.
"No, yo' don't!" Kid Wolf sang out.
Goliday took his hand away from the butt of his ivory-handled gun. The Texan had pulled his other revolver with the bewildering speed of a magician. Goliday was covered, "plumb center."
"That's our answah, sah!" The Kid snapped.
Goliday's sallow face was red with rage.
"I have power here!" he rasped. "And yuh'll hear from me! There's only one law in this country, and that's six-gun law—yuh'll feel it within forty-eight hours!"
"Is that so?" said The Kid contemptuously. "I have a couple of lawyahs heah that can talk as fast as any in San Felipe County. The S Bar accepts yo' challenge. Come on, boys. Let's don't waste any mo' time with this."
Grinning, the quartet struck out again westward, leaving the disgruntled ranchman behind. The last they saw of him, he was kicking about in the mesquite, looking for his gold.