Jim lifted his gun and fired. His shots rang out like the rattle of a maxim gun, so swiftly did he empty the six chambers. In a few moments they were once more on their way to inspect the target.
Five bullets had passed through the bull’s-eye, the sixth had broken its line.
“I shall see Eve to-morrow morning,” said Jim quietly. “You can see her later.”
Without a word Will turned away, and moved off toward the ranch. Jim followed him. Nor was a word exchanged between them till the hut was reached, and Will had unhitched his horse from the tying-post.
“Going?” inquired Jim, for something to say.
“Yes.”
There was no mistaking the younger man’s tone, and his friend looked away while he leaped into the saddle.
Jim seemed to have drawn none of the satisfaction which the winning of the match should have afforded him, for he flung the box which he had been carrying aside as though it had offended him. He wanted to speak, he wanted to say something pleasant. He wanted to banish that surly look from Will’s eyes; but somehow he could find nothing to say, nothing to do. He looked on while the other lifted his reins to ride off. Then, in desperation, he came up to the horse’s shoulder.
“Shake, Will,” he said.