“Skeeter, I wants to gib a free show at de nigger picnic-groun’ on de Cooley bayou dis afternoon. I invites eve’ybody, but I ’specially wants you an’ Vinegar Atts, an’ I would like to hab a nigger named Shin Bone.” “How come you pick out such a crowd as dat fer special eye-witnersers?” Skeeter asked. “A preacher, a saloon-keeper, an’ a resteraw man,” the stranger smiled. “A bunch like dat is able to supply all human needs.” “It ’pears to me like you also needs a doctor an’ a undertaker,” Skeeter remarked; “but of co’se you knows yo’ own bizzness best.” “You’ll know my bizzness better at de picnic-groun’,” the stranger returned. “Us will be dar at three o’clock.” V A great crowd assembled at the picnic-ground. The three men specially invited were sitting under a tree, smoking and waiting. The showman came promptly on time, and shook hands with the three, but did not offer to tell his name. “Whut name does dey call you by?” Vinegar asked. “I ain’t got no name,” the negro grinned. “Dat’s strange!” Vinegar muttered. “I’ll call you Stranger, fer shawt.” Stranger carried a heavy sack, and he now untied the top and poured the contents upon the ground. There were two or three dozen marbles, such as children use in their games; there were a dozen or more small apples, about a dozen empty pop-bottles, and several dozen tops of small tin cans. “I’s a pistol-shooter,” the stranger announced. “Ef you misdoubts my confession, jes’ take a look.” He tossed an apple above his head; quickly he tossed two more, juggling them in the air. Suddenly from somewhere he drew a big pistol, shot three times with startling quickness, and the shattered apples dropped at his feet. There are men who are born with the strange gift of demonstrating that the hand is quicker than the eye. In civilized sections of the country men so gifted are sleight-of-hand performers; in other sections, less civilized, they become card-sharps, with the ability to “pitch a good game” and deal themselves cards from the bottom of the deck; in still other sections, they become expert gunmen whose skill as marksmen is a wonder to behold. The Tickfall crowd stood breathlessly watching the juggler of bottles, apples, marbles. He tossed pop-bottles in the air, and while they were spinning he shot through the neck of the bottle and broke the bottom to pieces without injuring the neck. He threw up the tin tops of the pop-bottles, and unerringly shot through the center of each. He tossed the apples into the air, and shattered them with bullets. He threw marbles three at a time above his head, and they came down in dust. There was one man on whom this exhibition made a deep impression. Shin Bone had bragged his brags about chasing that very darky out of town by shooting at him and throwing rocks. He now abandoned his idea. That was certainly not the way to rid Tickfall of the presence of the dangerous stranger.