“I guess I’ve told all they is to say, but if they’s anything anybody don’t understand, er if anybody’s got any kick comin’, speak up. Oh, yes, I fergot to say there’ll be a booby prize of a little tin horn with a purple ribbon on it, fer them that can’t shoot should be allowed to toot. If they ain’t no objection the shoot’n’ll now commence.”
With another loud bang on the board the address closed and the crowd drifted toward the taut rope.
“Hold on there!” yelled Sophy Perkins, frantically waving a small book. “Nobody’s paid a cent yet!”
“You fellers’ll have to ante up before any blood runs!” shouted Bill as he again pounded the board.
Nineteen contestants qualified at the barrel behind which Sophy presided. Her fishy orbs lighted up at the sight of the money, which she deftly deposited in her stocking after modestly turning her back to the crowd.
“She’ll chaperone that cash to the day o’ the resurrection if somebody don’t kep tab on it,” said Hyatt in an undertone as the proceeds disappeared among the mysteries of Sophy’s apparel. “We’re goin’ to put rollers under that old girl some day, but we can’t do it till we c’n git somebody else willin’ to do the work.”
Posey and Hyatt were provided with firearms, and Pop Wilkins had brought an old-fashioned muzzle loading rifle with a long barrel, which he handled with much tenderness.
“I used to shoot lady-bugs offen the edges o’ the leaves on the tops o’ high trees with this old iron when I was young an’ spry, an’ mebbe I’ll hit sump’n with it today,” he declared, as he ambled over toward the shooting stand.
“I didn’t bring no gun, an’ I won’t do no shoot’n,” remarked Bill. “It wouldn’t be dignified fer me as head of the club, an’ it wouldn’t be fair fer the rest fer me to shoot. It ’ud be like swip’n candy from little boys.”
As Bill had not been known to kill anything with a gun for over twenty years, his explanation was accepted without comment.