"Don't you believe it for a minute," declared Will vehemently, at this juncture, "and when my pictures are developed I can prove it. I was only fifty feet away, hardly that, and I give you my word that when the cur was almost on top of Bluff all his shake left him. He aimed that gun as if he was shooting at a set target."
"And to hear that big blower, Pet Peters, say he was ready to smash the brute's cranium in with a rock, when he was gripping a pebble not half as large as my hand! That is a joke to make me laugh," went on Jerry.
"What's that?" demanded Frank, who had not been present when the boast was made.
"Pet was jealous. He says Bluff always cuts him out from hanging on to the glory part. He was telling about snatching up a big rock, meaning to let it drop on the head of the mad dog as he went under the limb of the tree, when Jerry pulled it out of his hand. Here it is—I picked it up for a memento."
Will held up a small stone as he spoke, at which Frank burst into a laugh.
"I suppose at the time Pet really thought he was picking up a boulder. What do you suppose that hard-headed brute would have thought if this pebble had struck him? It would have been a flea bite. But for one, I'm done laughing at that newfangled gun of yours, Bluff."
"Me, too. I've said some mighty mean things about it in the past, pard, but never again. Talk to me about a handy thing to have about the house, that same gun just seems to wallow in luck. It's Johnny-on-the-spot when most needed. I may still believe in my double-barrel as the best thing on earth, but this contraption has its uses, and many of 'em."
Which was saying pretty much for Jerry.
"But I saw you talking to Pet before all that row broke out," remarked Will.
"Yes; he stopped me to jeer at the gun, like a good many other fellows, who don't know a good thing when they see it," answered Bluff, grinning amiably.