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Updated: June 25, 2025
After the horses were hobbled and the packs arranged, Bartley decided to experiment a little with his new Luger automatic. Cheyenne declined to experiment with the gun. "It's a mean gat," he asserted, "and it's fast. But I'll bet you a new hat I can empty my old smoke-wagon quicker than you can that pocket machine gun." For the fun of the thing, Bartley took him up.
Bailey said nothing until he had arrived at the angle of the switchback, when he lighted a match and gazed at the great gray cat of the rocks. "You get twenty dollars bounty," he told Pete. "And you sure stampeded me into the worst piece of down timber I've rode for a long time. Gosh! but you're quick with that smoke-wagon of yours!
"But, my dear, dear boy, I don't intend to reach for any crude lethal smoke-wagon. Besides, there isn't anything in it. I hocked the shells in Butte. I am not angry, merely grieved. We'll argue this out as we have breakfast and drive on.
Didn't hear you till I got most on top of you. You sure got some private shootin'-gallery." Pete led his pony up the steep trail and squatted beside Bailey. "How long you been watching me, Jim?" "Oh, jest since you started shooting under your hoss. What's the idea?" "Nothin', jest practicin'." "You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle that smoke-wagon like an ole-timer."
I hooked up with you 'cause I kinda thought " "Si?" "Well, Roth was tellin' as how you could make a six-gun smoke faster than most any hombre a-livin'. Now, I was figurin' if you would show me how to work this ole smoke-wagon here" and Pete touched the huge lump beneath his shirt "why, that would kinda be like wages but I ain't got no money to buy cartridges."
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