can shoot," said he.

The amazing Boogies waddled--yet with dignity--to a point ten paces
distant, drew a coin from the pocket of his dingy overalls, and spun it
to the blue of heaven. Ere it fell the deadly weapon bore swiftly on it
and snapped.

"Crack!" said the marksman grimly.

His assistant recovered the coin, scrutinized it closely, rubbed a fat
thumb over its supposedly dented surface, and again spun it. The
desperado had turned his back. He drew as he wheeled, and again I was
given to understand that his aim had been faultless.

"Good Little Sure Shot!" declaimed Boogies fulsomely.

"Hold it in your hand oncet," directed Little Sure Shot. The intrepid
assistant gallantly extended the half dollar at arm's length between
thumb and finger and averted his statesman's face with practiced
apprehension. "Crack!" said Little Sure Shot, and the coin seemed to be
struck from the unscathed hand. "Only nicked the aidge of it," said he,
genially deprecating. "I don't like to take no chancet with the lad's
mitt."

It had indeed been a pretty display of sharpshooting--and noiseless.

"Had me nervous, you bet, first time he tried that," called Boogles.
"Didn't know his work then. Thought sure he'd wing me."

Jimmie Time loftily ejected imaginary shells from his trusty firearm and
seemed to expel smoke from its delicate interior. Boogies waddled his
approach.

"Any time they back Little Sure Shot up against the wall they want to
duck," said he warmly. "He has 'em hard to find in about a minute. Tell
him about that fresh depity marshal, Jimmie."

"I already did," said Jimmie.

"Ain't he the hell-cat?" demanded Boogles, mopping a brow that Daniel
Webster would have observed with instant and perhaps envious respect.

"I been a holy terror in my time, all right, all right!" admitted the
hero. "Never think it to look at me though. One o' the deceivin' kind
till I'm put upon; then--good-night!"

"Jest like that!" murmured Boogles.

"Buryin' ground--that's all." The lips of the bad man shut grimly on
this.

"Say," demanded Boogles, "on the level, ain't he the real Peruvian
doughnuts? Don't he jest make 'em all hunt their--" The tribute was
unfinished.

"You ol' Jim! You ol' Jim Time!" Shrilly this came from Lew Wee, Chinese
cook of the Arrowhead framed in the kitchen doorway of the ranch house.
He brandished a scornful and commanding dish towel at the bad man, who
instantly and almost cravenly cowered under the di