“I’D LIKE to look at a rifle,” said Guy to the gunsmith, who came up behind the counter to attend to his wants.
“Something pretty nice?” asked the man.
“No, sir. I can’t afford anything fancy.”
“You want a squirrel-rifle, I suppose?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Guy. “I don’t waste time on such small game. I want one carrying a ball large enough to knock over a buffalo or a grizzly bear.”
“Oh!” said the gunsmith. He looked curiously at Guy for a moment, and then opening a glass door behind him, took out a plainly finished rifle, and handed it over the counter. “There’s one carrying fifty to the pound,” said he, “and I’ll warrant it to shoot two hundred yards with accuracy. Only fifteen dollars.”
Guy took the weapon, and it was so much heavier than he expected to find it that he came very near dropping it on the floor.
The gunsmith said it weighed twelve pounds, but his customer thought he meant to say forty, for when he lifted it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel as if he were taking aim at something, it was all he could do to hold it, and the muzzle “wobbled” about so violently that it was doubtful if he could have hit the side of a barn at twenty paces. He noticed, too, that the weapon was provided with two triggers and two sights, and he did not see what use they could possibly be; but of course he could not ask questions without showing his ignorance.
“I want something I can depend upon in any emergency,” said Guy after he had looked the rifle over with an air of profound wisdom. “A man who follows the business of a hunter sometimes finds himself in a tight place.”
“Why, I thought you were a sailor,” said the gunsmith. “You look like one.”