Accordingly Bud walked to the marked-off place, drew his heavy
revolver, raised it and brought it down on the mark--the bottle
on the stick. There was a sharp crack, followed instantly by the
tinkle of glass, and that bottle was no more.

"Busted it clean!" cried Nort. "I wish I could do that!"

Another flask was provided, and Nort shot at this. His aim was
fairly good, but he was allowed to go five feet nearer than Bud
had stood, that distance being the western lad's handicap. But
Nort only chipped away part of the bottom of the bottle with his
first shot, and it took three to shatter it completely,

"Watch me do better than that!" cried Dick, as he took his place
where his brother had stood, and raised his gun. "I'll crack it
first shot!"

His weapon was still in the air, and he had not brought it to a
level with the bottle when there sounded, from somewhere out in
the valley back of where the boy ranchers stood, the sound of a
shot.

The bullet zipped viciously over their heads, and, as they
instinctively ducked, they heard the crash of the broken bottle.




CHAPTER VI