In about half an hour we hears a pistol-shot and we tumbles out of the bunk-house, heeled for trouble. There ain’t nobody in sight, but pretty soon Windy comes down to see us.
“Hear her shoot?” he asks. “Didja?”
“Her shoot?” parrots Hashknife.
“Uh-huh. Mary Jane Haley fired her first shot. Honest to gosh. Missed my ear by the breadth of a gnat’s whisker.”
“Shootin’ at you?”
“We-e-e-ll, kinda at me, Hashknife. I tells her the story of the Circle Dot and then I gives her old Mike’s effects, which included his old .45 Colt. She looks at the old gun, and says, ‘Do I have to carry a gun like that?’
“I says, ‘It’s a danged good gun, if it ain’t too hard to pull.’ I shows her what I means and she tries it. Dang the luck! I thought Mike emptied it into Blazer, but I reckon he only shot five times.”
“Scare her?” I asks.
“I dunno. I went under the sofy like a picket-pin when he sees a hawk. When I peeked out she’s still got the gun in her hand, and is kinda feelin’ of the spot over her heart. I loaded it for her, but made her leave it on the table until I got to the door.”
“We’ll teach her how to shoot,” says I.