Well, I hadn't any record; and I knew that if Laird came over that ridge and saw my barn door without a scratch on it, he would be as anxious to fight as I was--or as I had been at midnight, before that disastrous acceptance came.
Now just at this moment, a little bird, no bigger than a sparrow, flew along by and lit on a sage-bush about thirty yards away.

Steve whipped out his revolver and shot its head off.

Oh, he was a marksman--much better than I was.

We ran down there to pick up the bird, and just then, sure enough, Mr.Laird and his people came over the ridge, and they joined us.

And when Laird's second saw that bird, with its head shot off, he lost color, he faded, and you could see that he was interested.
He said: "Who did that ?" Before I could answer, Steve spoke up and said quite calmly, and in a matter-of-fact way, "Clemens did it." The second said, "Why, that is wonderful.