"Dunno how I do it," replied the scout. "I always could put my bullets about where I wanted to and can't tell how I do it, either. I don't try very hard, but just throw her up and turn loose without taking any particular aim, and somehow the ball goes right where I look. Of course, I keep in good practice, and that helps some, I suppose."
"Practice won't explain it, captain," said old Tom. "It's a gift—a natural talent that some men find themselves possessed of. The same as some men have the natural gift of writing a beautiful hand, and do it with all ease, while others, with ever so much practice, can only acquire moderate skill. Now, Peck, Jack, or me, by constant practice, can do fairly well with a pistol or rifle; but we can't hold a candle to Bill. The best we could probably do, on an average, at fifteen to twenty paces, would be to put three to four bullets out of six in a playing-card, which would be good shooting at a man, but Bill can put every ball just where he wants 'em to go. I've seen him shoot at a five-spot and put a ball in each spot just as somebody would call them off to him, like this, 'Centre! upper right! upper left! lower right! lower left!' putting the balls through the centre of each spot as accurately as you could punch them with a nail and hammer. And he can do nearly as well, too, mounted and on the run. But, come, men, supper's getting cold."
After supper, although his recently wounded arm was still somewhat sore, Jack got out his fiddle and played several tunes, and we all joined in singing songs.
In course of conversation I had asked Captain Saunders what had become of my former patron, Lieutenant Lang, not having seen him about the garrison recently.
"Oh, Lang's out and gone—resigned by special request. Went in on the last Santa Fé mail-coach," replied the captain. "Although you straightened up his company papers and saved him—or his rich daddy, rather—from having to pay Uncle Sam a lot of money to square up his accounts, still it was evident in many ways that he was totally incompetent to manage a company, and he was given a hint from headquarters that his resignation would be acceptable."
Tom, Jack, and I had previously discussed the propriety of our making a present of some kind to the two officers, in testimony of our appreciation of their extremely prompt and timely response in the hour of our extremity, and, as we had nothing else available or appropriate, we had decided to abandon the plan of each having made a fine fur overcoat out of some of our beaver and otter skins and to give to each officer enough of the furs for that purpose.
At late bedtime, when the officers and Bill were getting ready to start back to the garrison, Tom brought out and gave to Saunders and Wilson each a package of beaver skins, telling them of the overcoats we had intended to make of them and suggesting that they use them for the same purpose. We also gave each officer a couple of choice buffalo robes.
"Now, men," said Saunders deprecatingly, "don't rob yourselves of these furs to reward us for doing our simple duty. We don't expect anything of the kind, are not entitled to any reward, and I don't think we ought to accept them, and——"
"But, Saunders," interrupted Lieutenant Wilson, "when you come to think of the princely overcoats these beaver furs will make, it seems to me there would be no harm in accepting them—not as pay for doing our duty but just as tokens of friendship and good-will from these men."
"Now you're getting it through you," said Tom approvingly. "That's the idea—just a friendly gift." And before Saunders could enter another remonstrance he added, as he gathered up an armful of the robes and skins: "Come, Jack, bring the rest and we'll tie them on their horses for them."