Calumet stood erect and snapped a shot at
him, though the distance was so great that he had little expectation of
doing any damage.
But Taggart staggered, dropped his rifle and dove headlong toward the
rock. In an instant he had resumed his position behind it, and Calumet
could tell from the rapidity of his movements that he had not been hit.
He saw the rifle lying where it had fallen, and he was meditating a
quick rush toward the rock when he saw Taggart's hand come out and
grasp the stock of the weapon, dragging it back to him. Calumet
whipped a bullet at the hand, but the only result was a small dust
cloud beside it.
"In a hurry, Taggart?" he jeered. "Aw, don't be. This is the most fun
I've had since I've been back in the valley. An' you want to spoil it
by hittin' the breeze. Hang around a while till I get my hand in. I
reckon you ain't hurt?" he added, putting a little anxiety into his
voice.
"Hurt nothin'," growled Taggart. "You hit the stock of the rifle."
"I reckon that wouldn't be accounted bad shootin' at a hundred an'
twenty-five feet," said Calumet. "If you hadn't had the rifle in the
way you'd have got it plumb in your bread-basket. But don't be
down-hearted; that ain't nothin' to what I can do when I get my hand
in. I ain't had no practice."
He had an immense advantage over Taggart.
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