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Updated: June 14, 2025
Pawnee Brown leaped forward and hurled both Ross and Skimmy to the ground. Ere they could rise he had turned upon Tucker. The tall calvary man had his pistol cocked, and now he blazed away almost in Pawnee Brown's face, and then both went down, with the scout on top. The flash of the pistol had scorched the boomer's skin, but the bullet sung over his head, missing him by less than an inch.
Boomer's request, only to be told with cold official politeness by the young lady at the exchange that all that had been done on her own initiative ten minutes ago. She parleyed with these heated enthusiasts for a space, and then returned to the window. And indeed the spectacle was well worth looking at. The dusk was falling, and the flames were showing brilliantly at half a dozen points.
A window in the top story over Boomer's shop opened, and Boomer, captain of the Fire Brigade, appeared, staring out with a blank expression. Still staring, he began to fumble with his collar and tie; manifestly he had to put on his uniform. Hinks' dog, which had been lying on the pavement outside Wintershed's, woke up, and having regarded Mr.
Pawnee Brown not safe near big town," went on Yellow Elk. "You're a good one for fairy tales," was the boomer's silent comment. He had withdrawn to the shelter of the thick brush and sat his steed like a statue, while his pistol was ready for use, with his forefinger upon the trigger. "But but what happened to me?" went on Nellie, struggling to sit up, while Yellow Elk held her back.
Crack! came the report of the boomer's pistol, and the bull fell back a pace, clipped between the horns. A lucky swerve downward had saved him from a bullet wound through the eye. There was no time for another shot. With a bellow the bull leaped the intervening space and landed almost on top of Pawnee Brown! A yell went up from those who saw the movement. "Pawnee is done fur.
"Help!" cried Nellie, and a moment later Pawnee Brown burst into view. A glance showed him the true situation, and without hesitation he fired at Yellow Elk. His bullet clipped across the redskin's chest. By this time Yellow Elk had his own pistol out, and standing erect he aimed straight for the boomer's heart.
There is no need to recount here in detail the glorious triumph of the election day itself. It will always be remembered as the purest, cleanest election ever held in the precincts of the city. The citizens' organization turned out in overwhelming force to guarantee that it should be so. Bands of Dr. Boomer's students, armed with baseball bats, surrounded the polls to guarantee fair play.
Mouse gave Jack a four-tined fork which the hay outfit had forgotten when they left. Coon Floyd's compliments went with five cow-bells, which we always thought he rustled from a boomer's wagon that broke down over on the Reno trail. It bothered some of us to rustle something for a present, for you know we couldn't buy anything.
Crack! Again Pawnee Brown fired. The flash was almost directly in the wildcat's face, and shot in the left forepaw the beast uttered a fearful howl of pain and dropped back. But only for an instant. The pain only increased its anger, and with gleaming teeth it crouched down and made another spring, right for the boomer's throat. Crack! crack! twice again the pistol rang out.
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