There was but one more event to be contested and in it Hopalong found his joy.
Shooting from the hip when the draw is timed is not the sport of even good shots, and when Tex made sixty points out of a possible hundred, he felt that he had shot well.

When Hopalong went to the line his friends knew that they would now see shooting such as would be almost unbelievable, that the best draw-and-shoot marksman in their State was the man who limped slightly as he advanced and who chewed reflectively on his fifty-cent cigar.

He wore two guns and he stepped with confidence before the marshal of the town, who was also judge of the contest.
The iron ball which lay on the ground was small enough for the use of a rifle and could hardly be seen from the rear seats of the amphitheater.
There was a word spoken by the timekeeper, and a gloved hand flashed down and up, and the ball danced and spun and leaped and rolled as shot after shot followed it with a precision and speed which brought the audience to a heavy silence.

Taking the gun which Buck tossed to him and throwing it into the empty holster, he awaited the signal, and then smoke poured from his hips and the ball jumped continuously.

Both guns emptied in the two-hand shooting, he wheeled and jerked loose the guns which the marshal wore, spinning around without a pause, the target hardly ceasing in its rolling.