not save them from some passing band of Greasers, or other cattle
thieves.

"Haze 'em back this way," Bud had requested his two cowboys.
"They'll be safer over here."

So Yellin' Kid and Snake had ridden away as the early evening
shadows were falling and, to pass the time until the hour for
seeking their bunks, the boy ranchers sought some amusement.
Shooting at a mark was one form, and Nort and Dick were
endeavoring to become as expert as their western cousin in the
use of the .45.

"Shooting suits me," agreed Bud. "I'll soon have to cut down my
handicap if you fellows keep on the way you're going," for in the
tests of skill Bud had always discounted his own ability in order
to be fair.

"Well, don't scale it down too much," begged Dick. "Nort hasn't
got me skinned, but I'm not up to you."

"Well, let's see how you'll do," suggested Bud.

As a mark a bottle was stuck on a stick which was thrust into the
ground at the foot of the sloping bank which enclosed the
reservoir. Shooting against this earthen bank insured that no
wild bullets would injure any one.

"You go first, Bud," suggested Dick. "We want to get a line on
you."