Said the old Colonel: “A merchant from our country journeyed to New York, and Colonel Colt, who was a friend of his, gave him two five-shooters--pistols they were, and little things. The merchant in turn presented them to Captain Jack Hayes. The captain liked them so well that he did not rest till every man jack of us had two apiece. “Directly,” mused the ancient one, with a smile of pleasant recollection, “we had a fight with the Comanches--up here above San Antonio. Hayes had fifteen men with him--he was doubling about the country for Indians. He found 'sign,' and after cutting their trail several times he could see that they were following him. Directly the Indians overtook the Rangers--there were seventy-five Indians. Captain Hayes--bless his memory!--said,' They are fixin' to charge us, boys, and we must charge them.' There were never better men in this world than Hayes had with him,” went on the Colonel with pardonable pride; “and mind you, he never made a fight without winning. “We charged, and in the fracas killed thirty-five Indians--only two of our men were wounded--so you see the five-shooters were pretty good weapons. Of course they wa'n't any account compared with these modern ones, because they were too small, but they did those things. Just after that Colonel Colt was induced to make bigger ones for us, some of which were half as long as your arm. “Hayes? Oh, he was a surveyor, and used to go out beyond the frontiers about his work. The Indians used to jump him pretty regular; but he always whipped them, and so he was available for a Ranger captain. About then--let's see,” and here the old head bobbed up from his chest, where it had sunk in thought--“there was a commerce with Mexico just sprung up, but this was later--it only shows what that man Hayes used to do. The bandits used to waylay the traders, and they got very bad in the country. Captain Hayes went after them--he struck them near Lavade, and found the Mexicans had more than twice as many men as he did; but he caught them napping, charged them afoot--killed twenty-five of them, and got all their horses.” “I suppose, Colonel, you have been charged by a Mexican lancer?” I inquired. “Oh yes, many times,” he answered. “What did you generally do?” “Well, you see, in those days I reckoned to be able to hit a man every time with a six-shooter at one hundred and twenty-five yards,” explained the old gentleman--which no doubt meant many dead lancers. [Illustration: 02 A BEARER OF CIVILIZATION] “Then you do not think much of a lance as a weapon?” I pursued. “No; there is but one weapon. The six-shooter when properly handled is the only weapon--mind you, sir, I say _properly”_ and here the old eyes blinked rapidly over the great art as he knew its practice.