I took the gun and put it to my shoulder, aiming at the target; but it seemed heavier than the rifle, and the sight wavered about.
“Try this one, Nat,” said my uncle; and he handed me another with rather shorter barrels.
“I like this one, uncle,” I said. “It’s ever so much lighter.”
“No, sir,” said the man smiling; “it’s half a pound heavier. It is the make. The weight of the gun is more central, and it goes up to the eye better.”
“Yes,” said my uncle; “it is a handy little gun. Load that the same as you did before.”
I found the construction so similar that I had no difficulty in loading both barrels of the gun, and it seemed such easy work to just slip in a couple of little rolls of brown paper as compared to the way in which I had seen men load guns with a ramrod.
“Now, Nat,” said my uncle in a quick businesslike way; “once more, you must remember that a gun is not a plaything, and though you are a boy in years you must begin to acquire the serious ways of a man. To handle a gun properly is an art, perfection in which means safety to yourself and friends, durability to the gun, and death quick and painless for the object at which you fire. Now then. No hesitation, boy: raise your gun quickly to your shoulder, take a sharp aim, and fire right and left barrels at those two targets.”
My heart beat fast as I did as my uncle bade me, feeling two sharp thuds on my shoulder, and then as I stared through the smoke I expected to see the two white targets covered with shot marks.
“Better luck next time, Nat,” said my uncle smiling.
“Haven’t I hit them, uncle?” I said in dismay.