The revolver cracked out six times, was quickly reloaded, and flashed again. Then the girl returned it to its holster, skillfully piloted her roan through the crowd, and trotted away. Another burst of laughter and applause went up from the crowd. The missing “n” now appeared on the poster, and its even lines exhibited much more perfect shooting than had the letters stamped by the leaden markers of the Wasp. His triumph had been snatched away from him! Chagrined and flushing, he stood scowling after her. “Got yuh that time, Wasp!” one of the men before him laughed. Williams looked down from his horse upon the speaker, a small man notable for his very gray hair and his pleasant expression. The heavy, vertical lines between his eyebrows deepened. “Mebbe so,” he answered; “mebbe so! But git this idear into that little think-organ o’ yourn, an’ plant it there; I’ll git her ’fore I’m done, an’ what I gits I keeps!” “You got a full day’s work ahead o’ you, then! There ain’t no ‘fool’s gold’ about that girl!” “Your tongue is too active for a feller o’ your size, stranger. Reckon you better be movin’!” The little man paled, but his voice, when he replied, was even and unafraid. “I never run from nobody yet, an’ I don’t figger to begin now.” “No? Then stay, since you insists! An’ accept this little token o’ my esteem!” The revolver of the Wasp darted from his hip, shot forward, and flashed once. The other staggered. He strove to keep his feet, but collapsed in the dust. A couple of bystanders carried him into the nearest house, while some one casually looked for a doctor. One of the bearers, a huge, powerful fellow, swore violently. “The hound!” he growled. “He didn’t give little Peterson a chance!” The other eyed the wounded man sympathetically. “Williams ain’t bothered with no sech scruples as that,” he said. “Besides, he’s been totin’ a grudge agin ‘Smiley’ here, an’ figgered this was a chance to git even.” “How’s that?” “Seems the little feller strayed into town a couple o’ days ago an’ showed some nuggets so big they nearly made the eyes o’ Wasp an’ his gang pop out. They tried to git him full an’ then find out where his claim is. But it didn’t work. The little man was too sharp for ’em.” “Good for him! Hope he gits well an’ shoots the everlastin’ daylights out o’ that coyote!” “He’ll git over it, all right. Ain’t nothin’ serious, I reckon. Guess the Wasp wasn’t tryin’ to kill him outright, ’cause then he’d never git to know where the little feller has planted his stakes! An’, if I was you, McCoy, I wouldn’t be too careless with them remarks. Funerals is too common in this town as it is!” Outside, the momentary hush which had fallen upon the crowd was quickly lifted. Some shrugged their shoulders. Others laughed. One or two tried a few pot-shots at the red “J” for luck; and in a short while the town was about its haphazard business as indifferent, as unconcerned as ever. CHAPTER IV. THE RIDERS.