"Him shoot!" he said.
"Who—me?" said Jordan, "I guess I'm a leetle mite out o' practice. Tell yo' what I'll do, though, Whitey—yo' done put my lid on the bum, an' I'll shoot if you'll let me have a crack at that new hat o' your'n! Come on now, are yo' game?" said Jordan, taking his big Colt forty-five from his holster.
"Turn about is fair play," said Whitey, "so here goes!" and he fastened his hat on the board, making a fair mark.
Jordan laughed, and turning, he emptied his revolver in the direction of the hat in less time than it takes to tell it. "By Crackey!" exclaimed Jordan, in a disappointed way, "I don't believe I hit thet air old sky-piece, after all! I'm shore gettin' outer practice!"
The boys ran to the hat, and found that it was untouched. BUT—Jordan had put a ring of bullets all around it, none of them being more than half an inch from the brim!
"I guess you don't need much practice!" gasped Whitey, as he came back with the hat. "I wouldn't have thought it possible for any one to shoot like that!" he added, in undisguised admiration.
"Well," said Jordan, slowly, "mebbe if I'd bin a leetle more careful an' took more time, I might have hit it. I reckon, now, I've done throwed away my chance to get even with yo'!"
"You'll never get another chance at my hat—not unless you let me put it up a mile away—and even then I'd be afraid you'd hit it!"
"I reckon the hat's some safe if thet's the case," said Bill.