Instead, he slowly dismounted himself, and wondered whether it would ever be vouchsafed him to sit in that saddle again.
Freeman now produced his revolver, a handsome, silver-mounted weapon, that looked business-like.

"What sort of a machine is yours ?" he inquired, pleasantly.

"You can take your choice.

I'm not particular, but I can recommend this as a sure thing, if you would like to try it.

It never misses at twenty paces." "Twenty paces ?" repeated Don Miguel, with a faint gleam of hope.
"Of course we won't have any twenty paces to-night," added Freeman, with a laugh.