"I'm curious to see what you have in your pocket.

Ah! So---this is it! You're another Peter Bad, are you ?" Tom held in one hand a silver-plated revolver with ivory handle that he had snatched out of Black's pocket.
"I wonder why it is," mocked Tom, grinning, "that nine out of every ten dude tenderfeet from the east come west with one of these things." Black charged the cub, intent on recapturing his pistol, but Reade shot out a foot, tripping him.

Then Tom ran nimbly over to the cook tent.

Here he halted, breaking the weapon at the breech and allowing the cartridges to drop into his hand.

He transferred them to his pocket, then wheeled and picked up Jake's kitchen hatchet.
With a few swift strokes from the head of the hatchet Tom put that firearm on the retired list for good.
"Give me my pistol, boy!" choked Black, running up.
"Certainly," rejoined Reade, wheeling and politely offering the ruined firearm.