"Well, examine the pistol for yourself, Phil."
Dave took the weapon and snapped the trigger. There was no report, and he tried again, aiming at some brushwood not far from the apple tree. The brushwood was close to the back road.
"It's all right now, I guess," he said, as the pistol went off with ease. "But that trigger ought to be looked after," he added. "You wouldn't want it to miss fire at a critical moment."
He stepped forward and, while Roger swung the representation of a bear, he fired another shot.
"Good for you!" exclaimed the senator's son in admiration. "You took him right in the throat, Dave!"
"Hold up there! Stop that! Do you hear me, you young rascals! Do you want to kill me?"
The call came from the back road, and looking in that direction, the three boys saw a well-dressed man coming toward them on the run. He was carrying a whip, and his face was full of sudden passion.
"It's Aaron Poole, Nat's father!" said Dave, as he lowered the pistol in his hand.
"I say, are you trying to kill me?" cried the miserly money-lender of Crumville, as he came closer, and he shook his whip at Dave.
"Why, no, Mr. Poole," answered Dave, as calmly as he could. "What makes you think that?"