human
Where _you_ been?
gpt
Locatin' a missin' herd of yore cattle, retorted Johnny, nettled by the tone.
human
They're waitin' for you when you get time to go after 'em. Now we'll locate them sharpshooters. Anythin' else you can't do, let us know. Come on, Red,
gpt
Looks like a long-range job, Kid. My gun's all right for closer work, but I ought to have a Sharp's for this game.
human
Gimme a Sharp's,
gpt
Take Wilson's--they got him yesterday,
human
This is good enough for me, he grunted,
gpt
I'm goin' to th' next shack, replied Red, moving on.
human
We'll use our old follow-shootin'--an' make 'em sick. Ready? I'm goin' to cross th' open. At his friend's affirmative grunt Red leaned over and dashed for the other adobe. A bullet whined in front of him, barely heard above the roar of Johnny's rifle. He settled down, adjusted the sights and proceeded to prove title to his widely known reputation on other ranges of being the best rifle-shot of many square miles.
gpt
Make a hit, Kid? he called.
human
It's mebby further than you figger.
gpt
It is, answered Johnny.
human
Like old times, huh? Lord help 'em when you get started! Are you all set? I'm ready to draw 'em.
gpt
Wind gentle, from th' east, mumbled Red.
human
Dirty gun--got to shoot higher. All right,