“There, now, put the piece to your shoulder, aim at that white target, and pull the trigger.”
“But there is no cap on,” I said.
“Caps are things of the past, Nat,” he said smiling, “except that they are inclosed in the cartridge. Now, then, hold your piece tightly to your shoulder, take careful aim—but quickly—and fire.”
I tried to obey him exactly, but the rifle seemed very heavy to hold up firmly, and the sight at the end of the barrel seemed to dance about; but I got it pretty steady for the moment, drew the trigger, there was a sharp report, and the stock of the piece seemed to give me a thump on the shoulder as I heard a dull clang.
“Well done, Nat; a good beginning, boy. There, your bullet has hit the target just on the extreme edge.”
“What, that black star? Is that the place, uncle?”
“To be sure it is, my boy. I thought that rifle would be too heavy for you; but if you can do that the first time, it decides me to keep it.”
The man smiled approval, and my uncle took the rifle in his hand.
“Brush!” shouted the man, and a brush started out of a hole in the wall, and touched the target over with white-wash.
“Now for the double gun,” said my uncle. “Try this one, Nat.”