You can't he'p over-shootin' in the dark.

Hold as low as his stirrup.' "Peets pulls himse'f up straight as a saplin' an' runs his left hand along the bar'l as far as his arm'll reach.

An' he hangs long on the aim as shootin' in the dark ain't no cinch.

If this ghost is a bright ghost it would be easy.

But he ain't; he's bloo an' dim like washed out moonlight, or when it's jest gettin' to be dawn.