k lay the low, crumbling mounds of what had once been
a village.

The trail on the Blue ran close to the Pit, and no rider passing it
failed to glance down. Cattle occasionally strayed into it and if weak
were unable to climb out again without help from horse and rope. As
Bailey approached, he heard the unmistakable bark of a six-shooter. He
slipped from his horse, strode cautiously to the rim, and peered over.

Young Pete had ridden his horse down the ragged trail and was at the
moment engaged in six-gun practice. Bailey drew back and sat down.
Pete had gathered together some bits of rock and had built a target
loosely representing a man. The largest rock, on which was laid a
small round, bowlder for a head, was spattered with lead. Pete, quite
unconscious of an audience, was cutting loose with speed and accuracy.
He threw several shots at the place which represented the vitals of his
theoretical enemy, punched the shells from his gun, and reloaded. Then
he stepped to his horse and led him opposite the target and some twenty
feet from it. Crouching, he fired under the horse's belly. The horse
bucked and circled the enclosure. Pete strode after him, caught him
up, and repeated the performance. Each time Pete fired, the horse
naturally jumped and ran. Patiently Pete caught him up again. Finally
the animal, although trembling and wild-eyed, stood to the gun. Pete
patted its neck. Reloading he mounted. Bailey was curious to see what
the boy would do next. Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flung
past the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted and
striding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gun
and stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his hand
flashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not come
from the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five more
shots. Bailey could see the lead fly as the blunt slugs flattened on
the stone.

"The young son-of-a-gun!" muttered Bailey. "Dinged if he ain't
shootin' through the open holster! Where in blazes did he learn that
bad-man trick?"

Thus far Pete had not said a word, even to the horse. But now that he
had finished his practice he strode to the rock-target and thrust his
hand against it. "You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb
salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell.

"Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey.

Pete whirled. The color