It was a curious little weapon, having two barrels placed one above the other, and with a stock like a pistol. Attached to the pistol-like handle was a skeleton stock made of aluminum rods, and so arranged that it folded against the under side of the barrels when not in use. The whole thing could be slipped into a leather case not unlike the ordinary revolver holster, and carried with a strap over the shoulder. When folded in this way it was only two feet long, and had the appearance of the toy gun for which Larry had mistaken it.
Yet it was anything but a toy. The two barrels were of different calibre, the upper one being the ordinary .22, while the lower one, as Martin had stated, was of large calibre and chambered for a powerful cartridge.
The old hunter watched the boy eagerly examining the little gun, opening it and squinting through the barrels, aiming it at imaginary objects, and strutting about with it slung from his shoulder in the pure joy that a red-blooded boy finds in the possession of a fire arm. Then, when Larry’s excitement cooled a little, he took the gun, and explained its fine points to his eager pupil.
“From this time on,” he began, “I want you to remember everything I am going to tell you just as nearly as you can, not only about this gun, but everything else. For you’ve got to cram a heap of knowledge into your head in the next few days, and I haven’t time to say things twice.
“This gun was made specially for Mr. Ware after his own design and to fit his own idea. He wanted a gun that was as light as possible and could be carried easily, and at the same time be adapted to all kinds of game, big and little. This upper barrel, the smaller one you see, shoots a cartridge that will kill anything up to the size of a jack rabbit, and is as accurate a shooter as any gun can be made. Yet the cartridges are so small that a pocket full will last a man a whole season.
“Now the best rule in all hunting is to use the smallest bullet that will surely kill the game you are aiming at, and in every country there are always ten chances to kill small things to one chance at the bigger game. Up in this region, for example, there will be flocks of ptarmigan, the little northern grouse, and countless rabbits that we shall need for food, but which we couldn’t afford to waste heavy ammunition on. And this smaller barrel is the one to use in getting them.
“If you used the big cartridge when you found a flock of these ptarmigans sitting on a tree, the noise of the first shot would probably frighten them all away, to say nothing of the fact that the big ball would tear the little bird all to pieces, and make it worthless for food. With the .22 you can pop them over one at a time without scaring them, and without spoiling the meat.
“But suppose, when you were out hunting for ptarmigan or rabbits you came upon a deer, or even a moose. All right, you’ve got something for him, too, and right in the same gun. All you have to do is to shift the little catch on the hammer here which connects with the firing-pin in the lower barrel, draw a bead, and you knock him down dead with the big bullet—as Mr. Ware did last fall up in New Brunswick. There will be a louder report, and a harder kick, but you won’t notice either when you see the big fellow roll over and kick his legs in the air.”
The very suggestion of such a possibility was too much for the boy’s imagination. “Do you really think that I may kill a deer, or a moose, Martin?” he asked eagerly. “Do you, Martin?”
“Perhaps,” the old man assented, “if you will remember all I tell you. But first of all let’s learn all we can about the thing you are going to kill it with.