A Debt of Honor

“It’s an accident!” said Abe jealously. “He couldn’t do it again?”

“Can you?” asked Brooke, turning to Gerald.

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Then have a second trial.”

The board was reversed, a second disc was drawn, and the three marksmen prepared to repeat their shots.

“Shoot first, kid!” said Ben.

“No, I’m the youngest, I would rather follow.”

“I won’t shoot this time,” said the tourist. “It’s no use. You can all beat me.”

The shooting took place in the same order. Ben did about as well as before, but Abe, though coming nearer, failed this time to hit the bull’s-eye.

“Now it’s your turn, boy!” he said.

A minute after there was another shout of surprise.

A second time Gerald had hit the bull’s-eye, thus making the best record.

“You ain’t a Britisher, be you?” asked Abe, mortified.

“No, I am a native-born American, and proud of it,” returned Gerald.

“You’ll do, then! Hurrah for the stars and stripes!” shouted Abe. “The Amerikins kin shoot, you must admit, stranger.”

“Yes, I am willing to admit it,” said Noel Brooke with a smile, “especially as it is my friend Gerald who has come out first.”

Later on Mrs. Peters and Bess, who had completed their housework, came out and joined them.

Mrs. Peters was astonished when she heard that the Englishman, who was two inches shorter than herself, had defeated both her tall sons.

“Why,” she said, “I didn’t think you could handle me.”

“I don’t believe I can, Mrs. Peters,” said Noel Brooke modestly.

“I’m with you there!” put in her husband. “There ain’t many men that’s as tough and gritty as Sal Peters.”

Mrs. Peters listened to this high encomium with complacency.

“And the boy there beat Abe and Ben in shooting,” continued Mr. Peters.

“I reckon he couldn’t beat me!” said Mrs. Peters.

“The fact is the old woman is the best marksman in the lot of us,” explained Mr. Peters. “She’s got a sharp, keen eye, even if she is forty-nine years old.”

“Does Miss Peters take after her mother?” inquired the tourist.

“Miss Peters? Oh, you mean Bess. No, she’ll never make the woman her mother is.”

“I should hope not if I were going to marry her,” thought Brooke.

Before ten o’clock all the inmates of the cabin were asleep. It may readily be supposed that first-class accommodations were not provided. Gerald and his friend were shown to a bed in one corner, where they threw themselves down without undressing. But neither of them were inclined to be fastidious. They were thoroughly fatigued, and were soon oblivious to all that passed around them.

Noel Brooke, though a sound sleeper, was easily aroused. About midnight he started suddenly, and lifted his head as a noise was heard outside. It was a whinny from one of the horses, that were tethered to a tree at the rear part of the cabin. The horse was evidently frightened.

“Gerald!” exclaimed Brooke, shaking his companion energetically.

Gerald opened his eyes and asked drowsily, “What’s the matter?”

“The horses! Some one is meddling with them. Get up at once!”

Gerald comprehended instantly, and sprang to his feet. Both he and the tourist were out of doors like a flash, and ran to the rear of the cabin.

Two cowboys wearing large flapping sombreros, had untied the horses, and were leading them away.

“Hold on there!” exclaimed the Englishman. “Leave that horse alone!”

The cowboy who had sprung upon the horse turned and greeted him with derisive laughter.

“Mind your business, stranger, and get back to your bed!” he answered. “I’ve got use for this horse.”

The other, who had Gerald’s horse by the bridle, also sprang upon his back.

“That’s my horse!” called out Gerald angrily.

“It’s mine now!”

“I wish I had my rifle!” said Brooke in excitement, “I would soon stop these thieves!”

This incautious speech betrayed the fact that he was unarmed, and made the two thieves feel secure.

“Good-by, strangers!” said the first cowboy. “Your horses will be taken care of. You ain’t no cause to worry.”

They turned the horses’ heads and prepared to gallop away, though the poor animals, recognizing the voices of their real masters, seemed reluctant to go.

“If Mr. Peters and the boys were only awake,”

said the tourist, “they would manage these fellow.”

But help was near at hand after all.

“You just get off them animals, or I’ll shoot!” cried a stern voice.

The two cowboys turned quickly, expecting to encounter a man, but instead saw only a tall, gaunt woman in a white night-dress, with her long, disheveled hair hanging down her back.