"Any message, young fellow?"
"Not through you."
"So long, then!"
"Shoot away!"
The long barrel was poised as steadily as field-gun on its carriage. Fergus kept his blue eyes on the gleaming ring of the muzzle.
The hammer fell, the cartridge cracked, and from the lifted muzzle a tiny cloud flowed like a bubble from a pipe. The post quivered under Carrick's chin, and a splinter flew up and down before his eyes. But that was all.
"Aim longer," said he. "Get it over this shot."
"I'll try."
But the same thing happened again.