Evidently it was the hat, for while Billy's eyes were on the hat, a rifle cracked where Jack Murray lay hidden and the hat jumped and settled.
"Good thing my head ain't inside," said the wholly delighted Billy, his eyes riveted on the smoke shredding away above the bushes on the right front. "I wonder if he thinks he got me."
It was evident that Jack Murray was wondering too. For the crown of a hat appeared with Jack-in-the-box unexpectedness at the right side of the bush below the smoke. Experience told Billy that a stick was within the crown of the hat which moved so temptingly to and fro.
Three or four minutes later, Jack Murray's hat disappeared and the rifle again spoke.
"Another hole in my hat," Billy muttered resignedly and cuddled his rifle stock against his cheek. "He'll wave his hat again, and then he'll be about ready to go see if the deer is venison."
Even as he foretold, the hat appeared and was moved to and fro, and raised and lowered, in order to draw fire. Then, peace continuing to brood over the countryside, the hat was crammed on the owner's head and the owner, on hands and knees, headed through the brush toward Billy's hat.
Billy was of the opinion that Jack Murray's course would bring him within ten feet. He was right. Jack Murray passed so close that Billy could have reached forth his rifle and touched him with the muzzle. Instead he waited till Jack's back was fairly toward him before he said, "Hands up!"
Jack Murray possessed all the wisdom of his kind. He dropped his rifle and tossed up his hands.
"Stand up. No need to turn around," resumed Billy, Riley Tyler's six-shooter trained on the small of Jack's back. "Lower your left hand slowly and work your belt down. You wear it loose. It'll drop easy. And while you're doing it, if you feel like gamblin' with me, remember that this is Riley's gun and I ain't used to it, and I might have to shoot you three or four times instead of only once, y' understand."
Obviously Jack Murray understood. He lowered his left hand and worked his gun-belt loose and down over his hip bone with exemplary slowness. The shock of his capture had evaporated the last effects of the liquor. He was cold sober and beginning to perceive the supreme folly he had committed in shooting a woman's mount from under her.