An Unwelcome Visitor
that. Bet he's mad. Serves him right for havin' two. He ain't no better than me, an' I only got one, since Ackerman took my other one. Cuss it!" he swore, blinking rapidly and spitting as a sharp spat! sent sand into his face.
He shifted, wiped his lips, and peered out at a spot on the other butte where a cloud of smoke spread out along the ground. Then he poked his sombrero over the breastwork and wriggled it on a stick, but waited in vain for the expected shot
"He ain't bitin' today; an' he's savin' his cartridges. Well, I got plenty; so here goes for that shirt again."
Again the inoffensive garment flopped; and then a singing bullet passed squarely through Holbrook's expensive sombrero.
"You stay down from up there!" grunted Holbrook at the hat. "Plumb center! I got a lot of respect for that hombre. He got th' best of th' swap, too. I spoiled a worn-out shirt, an' he ventilated a twenty dollar Stetson. He owes me a couple more shots!"
The next shot missed, but the second turned the shirt into another funnel.
"Hey!" shouted an angry voice. "What you think yo're doin'?"
Holbrook's grin turned into a burst of laughter as the pole swiftly descended, and he again poked up his hat, hoping for a miss and another wasted cartridge;
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