His father bent over the rifle action, examining it. Then he stepped over to place the weapon in a rack. Finally, he turned, to look searchingly at his son.
"Permanent?"
"Afraid so, Dad. I guess I sort of blew up."
"Want to tell me about it?"
The older man motioned Don to a camp stool and pulled one over for himself. As Don talked, he listened intently. At last, he nodded.
"So that's all of that, eh?"
"Guess it is, Dad. Looks as though I'll have to start working for my keep. Won't be any police official in the family after all."
"Could be." Kent Michaels got up and reached out to the weapons rack.
"Got one more shot on this target. Then we'll talk it over, hm-m-mm?"
He stepped up to a line inlaid in the floor. Deliberately, he placed a cartridge in the rifle and closed the action. Then, he raised the weapon, seated it on his shoulder, and brought it into position with a twisting motion.