Freddy the Cowboy by Walter R. Brooks Page A

ten seconds and I’ll admit I’m a liar.”
    â€œOh, sure, sure,” Mr. Flint said. “When you got him trained to throw anybody off but you? What’ll that prove?”
    â€œO.K.,” said Freddy. “Then it’s shooting. Set up your tin cans. I understand you’re right accurate with your little old popgun.”
    â€œCan’t see to shoot by moonlight,” put in Jasper. He was one of the two cowboys Mr. Flint had working on the ranch as horse handlers.
    â€œGood enough to beat a pig,” said Mr. Flint. “Come along folks,” he said, turning to the group about the fire; “over to the corral fence.”

Chapter 9
    The terms of the shooting match were simple. Four tin cans were put up on posts of the corral. Then when the horses were driven off out of the way into the smaller corral by the house, Mr. Flint would ride down past at a distance of thirty yards and try to shoot the cans off the posts. He was allowed six shots, and would ride at a canter. It was a pretty severe test of marksmanship.
    It was a cool clear night. The moon was high now, and almost bright enough to read by. Certainly it was bright enough to shoot by. Mr. Flint rode to the end of the corral and then with his gun swinging in his hand cantered down once past the posts to get the distance. Then he went back and rode down again, and this time he shot. He fired twice at the first can before he knocked it off the post, but the second and third ones he hit at the first try. With two cartridges left in his gun he fired more carefully at the fourth can and missed; he fired quickly again and knocked it off the post.
    The dudes applauded, and Mr. Flint pulled up beside Freddy. “Let’s see you tie that, pig.”
    â€œI ain’t aimin’ to tie it, pardner,” said Freddy. “That was right good plain shooting, but what I’m aimin’ to show you is something real fancy.” He started to pick up four more cans from the pile that had been brought out.
    â€œJasper’ll put up the cans for you,” said Mr. Flint.
    â€œI’ll put ’em up myself,” said Freddy. “I’ve heard of cans bein’ fastened down so that they wouldn’t fall off if you hit ’em with a cannon.” He went over and placed the cans on the posts. And of course on each post he put a mouse. The mice had been busy, each chewing a wad of gum, and now their job was to stick one end of a piece of string to each can, throw the loose end down, run to the ground, and be ready to pull.
    â€œNow, folks,” he said, “this here ain’t going to be a real exhibition, because I’m a little out of trainin’. Of course Flint here has done right well for a feller that ain’t never practised shoot-in’ off anything but his mouth. I wouldn’t say nothing about it, except he’s seen fit to call me pigs and such-like. And I still wouldn’t say anything about it if I hadn’t seen him beating a horse—this horse, folks, which I had to buy it off him to keep him from killing it.”
    Mr. Flint reined in closer to Freddy. “You keep your mouth shut, you little tramp,” he said angrily, “or I’ll—Ouch!” he yelled suddenly. For he had forgotten about Cy, who had swung round and nipped him sharply in the leg.
    Freddy rode up to the end of the corral. “OK, Cy,” he said, and the pony gathered his legs under him and sprang. They came down past the posts at a dead run. As they passed the first post, Freddy didn’t shoot, and Jasper said with a chuckle to Mr. Flint, “The dope ain’t even got his gun out.”
    But opposite the second post Freddy snatched his gun from the holster, and as fast as he could pull the trigger fired four shots—bang, bang, bang, bang!—and at each bang a can jumped or toppled from a post. Indeed one of them jumped before the bang came—probably because Cousin