The Two-Gun Man | Page 2

the door of one of the saloons, slowly
walking twenty feet away from it toward the center of the street.
Immediately other men had followed. But these came only to a point
just outside the door. For some reason which was not apparent to the
rider, they were giving the first man plenty of room.
The rider was now able to distinguish the faces of the men in the group,
and he gazed with interested eyes at the man who had first issued from
the door of the saloon.
The man was tall--nearly as tall as the rider--and in his every

movement seemed sure of himself. He was young, seemingly about
thirty-five, with shifty, insolent eyes and a hard mouth whose lips were
just now curved into a self-conscious smile.
The rider had now approached to within fifty feet of the man, halting
his pony at the extreme end of the hitching rail that skirted the front of
the saloon. He sat carelessly in the saddle, his gaze fixed on the man.
The men who had followed the first man out, to the number of a dozen,
were apparently deeply interested, though plainly skeptical. A short, fat
man, who was standing near the saloon door, looked on with a
half-sneer. Several others were smiling blandly. A tall man on the
extreme edge of the crowd, near the rider, was watching the man in the
street gravely. Other men had allowed various expressions to creep into
their faces. But all were silent.
Not so the man in the street. Plainly, here was conceit personified, and
yet a conceit mingled with a maddening insolence. His expression told
all that this thing which he was about to do was worthy of the closest
attention. He was the axis upon which the interest of the universe
revolved.
Certainly he knew of the attention he was attracting. Men were
approaching from the other end of the street, joining the group in front
of the saloon--which the rider now noticed was called the "Silver
Dollar." The newcomers were inquisitive; they spoke in low tones to
the men who had arrived before them, gravely inquiring the cause.
But the man in the street seemed not disturbed by his rapidly swelling
audience. He stood in the place he had selected, his insolent eyes
roving over the assembled company, his thin, expressive lips opening a
very little to allow words to filter through them.
"Gents," he said, "you're goin' to see some shootin'! I told you in the
Silver Dollar that I could keep a can in the air while I put five holes in
it. There's some of you gassed about bein' showed, not believin'. An'
now I'm goin' to show you!"

He reached down and took up a can that had lain at his feet, removing
the red lithographed label, which had a picture of a large tomato in the
center of it. The can was revealed, naked and shining in the white
sunlight. The man placed the can in his left hand and drew his pistol
with the right.
Then he tossed the can into the air. While it still rose his weapon
exploded, the can shook spasmodically and turned clear over. Then in
rapid succession followed four other explosions, the last occurring just
before the can reached the ground. The man smiled, still holding the
smoking weapon in his hand.
The tall man on the extreme edge of the group now stepped forward
and examined the can, while several other men crowded about to look.
There were exclamations of surprise. It was curious to see how quickly
enthusiasm and awe succeeded skepticism.
"He's done it, boys!" cried the tall man, holding the can aloft. "Bored it
in five places!" He stood erect, facing the crowd. "I reckon that's some
shootin'!" He now threw a glance of challenge and defiance about him.
"I've got a hundred dollars to say that there ain't another man in this
here town can do it!"
Several men tried, but none equaled the first man's performance. Many
of the men could not hit the can at all. The first man watched their
efforts, sneers twitching his lips as man after man failed.
Presently all had tried. Watching closely, the rider caught an expression
of slight disappointment on the tall man's face. The rider was the only
man who had not yet tried his skill with the pistol, and the man in the
street now looked up at him, his eyes glittering with an insolent
challenge. As it happened, the rider glanced at the shooter at the instant
the latter had turned to look up at him. Their eyes met fairly, the
shooter's conveying a silent taunt. The rider smiled, slight mockery
glinting his eyes.
Apparently the stranger did not care to try his