A Debt of Honor

He was tall, muscular, and with no superfluous flesh. It looked to Gerald as if his friend would find it a hard job to vanquish this backwoods giant.

“Wal, stranger, how do you feel about it?” asked Abe, as he saw Brooke apparently taking stock of his thews and sinews.

“I don’t know,” answered the tourist. “I had a hard job with your brother, but I think I’ll find it harder to tackle you.”

“Ho, ho! I think so too. Wal, dad, give the signal.”

Ben and his father seated themselves as spectators of the coming encounter. It may seem strange, but Ben’s good wishes were in favor of the stranger. He had been defeated, and if Abe were victorious he knew that he would never hear the last of it. But if Abe, too, were worsted he would have a very good excuse for his own failure. The father, however, felt eager to have the presumptuous Briton bite the dust under the triumphant blows of his eldest son.

Abe was not as impetuous or reckless as Ben. Indeed, had he been so naturally, Ben’s defeat would have made him careful.

He approached cautiously, and at the proper time he tried to overwhelm Brooke with what he called a “sockdolager.” But Noel Brooke had a quick eye, and drawing back evaded the onslaught which fell on the empty air. Before Abe could recover from the recoil the tourist dealt him a heavy blow beneath his left ear which nearly staggered him.

Ben laughed gleefully, and rubbed his hands.

“Now you see how ’tis yourself, Abe!” he cried.

“Shut up!” growled his father. “Don’t you go to crowin’ over your brother. He’s all right. Just wait!”

Abe’s rather sluggish temperament was angered by his brother’s derisive laugh, and he too lost his head. From this time he fought after Ben’s reckless fashion, of course laying himself open to attack – an opportunity of which the tourist availed himself.

When five minutes later Abe measured his length on the turf, Ben got up and bending over his prostrate brother said with a grin: “How did it happen, Abe? An accident, wasn’t it!”

“No,” answered Abe manfully. “I reckon the stranger’s too much for either of us.”

“Try it again, Abe!” said the old man in excitement.

“No, I’ve had enough, dad. I shan’t laugh at Ben any more. I can’t best the Englishman. I might try the boy.”

“No, thank you,” said Gerald laughing. “You could fight me with one hand.”

This modest confession helped to restore Abe’s good humor, and he shook hands with his adversary.

“You’re a smart ’un!” he said. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I didn’t by gum. But there’s one thing I can beat you in – and that’s shootin’.”

CHAPTER XX

HITTING THE BULL’S-EYE

“I have no doubt of it – you can beat me at shooting,” said the Englishman. “I can aim pretty fairly, but I don’t believe I can equal you.”

“Let us try!” proposed Ben eagerly.

“Very well,” rejoined Brooke, “if you’ll lend me a rifle. Mine is not a good one.”

“All right; I’ll lend you mine,” said Ben.

A board was placed in position, and with a piece of chalk a circular disc was roughly outlined with a bull’s-eye in the center.

“Now,” said Ben, handing his weapon to Noel Brooke, “lemme see what you can do!”

Brooke fired, striking the disc about two inches from the bull’s-eye.

“That’s good!” cried Ben. “Now I’ll show what I can do.”

He raised the rifle carelessly and struck the disc an inch nearer the bull’s-eye than the tourist.

“I’ve beat you,” he said gleefully.

“And I’ll beat you, Ben,” added Abe.

He raised the rifle, took careful aim, and struck the bull’s-eye.

“That’s the way Americans shoot,” said he. “We don’t give in to anybody in shootin’.”

“You’ve both beaten me,” said Brooke good-naturedly, “and I expected you would.”

“You shoot pretty well for an Englishman,” said Abe magnanimously. “I reckon you’d be called a crack shot in England?”

“Well, I have a pretty fair reputation there.”

“Don’t you want to shoot, kid?” asked Ben, turning to Gerald.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Gerald with alacrity.

“Kin he shoot?” asked Abe, turning to the tourist.

“I don’t know. I never saw him try it,” answered Brooke.

Indeed, Noel Brooke awaited the result with considerable curiosity. He had never heard Gerald speak of his rifle practise, and had no idea whether he was skilful or not. The fact is, however, that in the three years Gerald had lived with his father in Colorado he had had large experience in hunting, for it was upon this that the two depended largely for their supplies of food. Gerald had a quick eye, and steady hand, and he had practised a good deal by himself, being ambitious to gain skill with the rifle. He had succeeded so well that as soon as the second contest was proposed he was anxious to enter, but felt rather bashful about suggesting it himself. When, however, Ben mentioned it he accepted at once.

“You kin use the rifle, kid, can you?” asked Abe a little doubtfully.

“Yes, a little.”

“We can’t expect too much of a boy like you, but you’ll learn after a while.”

Gerald smiled inwardly, and determined to give the brothers a little surprise.

He raised the rifle to his shoulder, and when quite ready he let fly.

The bullet struck the bull’s-eye, a little more exactly, if possible, than Abe’s.

There was a shout of surprise.

“Why, he’s hit the bull’s-eye!” exclaimed Ben, running forward to examine the target.

“So he has!” cried Noel Brooke joyfully, for he was delighted by his young companion’s unexpected success.