On another occasion, Welshy, a saloon-keeper, and a man named Hay had been at odds for some time. One day Hay entered Welshy’s saloon out of temper and became very abusive. Suddenly Welshy took out his revolver and fired at Hay. The saloon-keeper almost fainted with surprise when Hay, after staggering slightly, shook himself, stretched out his hand and gave back to his would-be slayer the ball. It had glanced along his breast-bone, gone into the body and come out at the point of the shoulder, then dropped down the sleeve into his hand. Roosevelt thought the story worthy of the pen of a Wister or a Bret Harte, but the editor of “The Bad Lands Cowboy” mentioned the event merely as an “unfortunate occurrence between two of our most esteemed fellow citizens.” On still another occasion a Scotchman and a Minnesota man, both with “shooting” records, had a furious quarrel, and later the Scotchman mounted his horse, with rifle in hand, and rode to the door of the American’s mud ranch, breathing threats of slaughter. The latter, however, was not caught napping. From behind a corner of his building he instantly shot down his foolish assailant. Soon afterward there was a cowboy ball held in the place. Whether or not this was in celebration of the victory is not stated, but a historic fact in connection with the ball is that Roosevelt was selected to open the dancing with the wife of the victor of the shooting affair. The husband himself danced opposite, instructing Roosevelt in the steps of the lanciers. Sometimes Roosevelt found himself involved in situations that required both a cool head and a sense of humor. When he entered a strange place it always took him a day or two to live down the fact that he wore spectacles, and he found it a justifiable policy to ignore remarks about “four-eyes” until it became apparent to him that his keeping still was being mistaken for cowardice, on which occasion he went at the aggressor hammer and tongs. An amusing happening in which he was a central figure occurred when he was out on a search for a lost horse. He stopped for the night at a little cow town, but was informed by the owner of the only hotel that the only accommodation left was a room containing two double beds, and that three men were already occupying these beds. Roosevelt accepted the offer of the vacant half bed and turned in. Two hours later a lantern flashed in his face and he awoke to find himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver. Two men bent over him. “It ain’t him!” said one, and the next moment his bedfellow was covered by their guns, and one of them said, persuasively: “Now, Bill, don’t make a fuss, but come along quiet.” “I’m not thinking of making a fuss,” said Bill. “That’s right,” was the answer, “we don’t want to hurt you; we just want you to come along. You know why.” Bill dressed himself and went with them. “I wonder why they took Bill?” Roosevelt asked naively.