parations
below.

Laramie spoke to his pony, patted him on the neck and mounted.
Wheeling, he swung out into a wide circle across the level bench and
with gradually increasing speed into a measured gallop. Molded into
one flesh with his mount, Laramie, impassive in the saddle as a statue,
watched and nursed to his liking the pony's gait. When the rhythm
suited, he urged the horse to a longer stride and circling back into
the course, drew his gun, held it high in the air and, swinging it
slowly as if like a lariat, bore down at full speed on the first target.

Markers for both sides in the betting stood to watch each potato. No
signal would mean the potato had been missed; for each hit, a hat was
to be thrown into the air. In a complete silence among the spectators
every eye was fixed on Laramie. Those close at hand saw him, with his
left arm still high in the air, sway slightly backward and slowly
forward, while with the circling gun poised at arm's length he shrank
closer and lower into the saddle. When he neared the first target,
throwing his left arm toward it like a bolt, he fired, sped on and was
again swinging his gun. He had hardly covered six more paces before a
hat was tossed into the air behind him.

A yell went up from his friends. Horsemen wheeled into the course
behind the flying marksman. With five potatoes still to negotiate they
were afraid to cheer. But as one hat after another along the shooting
line--the second, the third and the fourth--were tossed up from the
target behind the speeding horseman, the Sleepy Cat men bellowed with
joyful confidence. The fifth target was of unusual distance--a hundred
and fifty yards--from the fourth. Leaving the fourth, Laramie's horse
broke and the onlookers saw that his rider was in trouble. He kept the
swing of his gun without breaking the rhythm, but his efforts were in
his bridle arm to steady his horse.

The hopes of his backers fell as they saw how stubborn the pony had
become. The hundred and fifty yards were barely enough to bring him
under control. Laramie still circling his raised gun did bring him
under. But he was already nearing the fifth target. And to the horror
of his friends passed it without attempting to fire.

Of the two chances left him to tie--which meant to win--he had passed
up one; the sixth and last meant life or death to the shaken hopes of
his backers.

They saw him settled once more into the long, even stride he nee