The lad changed his position, and once more took careful aim. He took a long breath, and his finger began to tighten on the trigger. At that instant there came a puff of wind, and the wire at which he was aiming swayed toward the unfortunate man. There was a cry of horror, and several persons in the crowd started toward Bart, as if to stop the firing of the gun. But the lad was on the alert, and waited until the wire was still again.
One, two, three seconds passed. Would he never fire? Suddenly those watching him saw his figure stiffen. He braced the rifle more firmly against his shoulder. There was a further tightening of the tension of his trigger finger, and a report that seemed to the nervous crowd to be as loud as a cannon vibrated on the wintry air.
An instant later there came tumbling from aloft a long wire, that writhed about like some snake, spitting blue flames and sparks. It wiggled about on the ground as a thing alive.
“Keep back! Keep back from that wire!” shouted a lineman. “Good shot, my lad! Great! You cut the wire with one bullet!”
Bart lowered his gun. Once more the mist seemed to come before his eyes, but it did not matter now, for he had saved the man. Yet no one ever knew how narrow was the margin, for, as Bart was pulling the trigger, the wire was once more swayed by the wind, and the bullet from the rifle had sped past the man’s head less than two inches away. So close had he been to death! But Bart had shot true, and, ever, in after years, he called that his best shot.
A cheer went up from the crowd at the plucky act of the lad, but it was quickly hushed as one of the linemen began to climb the pole, to assist down his comrade who had had such a narrow escape. He was too unnerved to descend alone, but there was no more danger, for the live wire was out of the way, and other linemen, with insulated gloves, soon had it in its proper place.