"I asked yuh what yuh was doin'?" repeated the peevish individual, glaring at Loudon.
"I heard yuh the first time, Sheriff," replied Loudon, placidly. "I was just figurin' whether to tell yuh I was shoein' a horse or catchin' butterflies. Which answer would yuh like best?"
"Yuh think yo're mighty funny, Tom Loudon, but I tell yuh flat if yuh don't go slow 'round here I'll find a quick way o' knockin' yore horns off."
"Yuh don't say. When yuh goin' to begin?"
Loudon beamed upon the sheriff, his gun held with studied carelessness. Sheriff Block walked from behind his breastwork, his eyes watchful, his thumbs carefully hooked in the armholes of his vest.
"That notice ain't no target," he grunted, halting beside the pine tree.
"It is now," remarked Loudon, genially.
"It won't be no more."
"O' course not, Sheriff. I wouldn't think o' shootin' at it if you say no. It's a right pretty piece o' readin'. Did yuh write it all yoreself?"
The sheriff's eyes became suddenly blank and fixed. His right thumb slowly unhooked.