"It's gone! Pull!"
Owen did pull, but it was too late, for he had lost his minnow.
"That wasn't a perch," said he. "Surely it wasn't a turtle, for they don't bite until warm weather."
"Surely it was a turtle," said Martin. "There it is."
As he spoke a large mossback came to the surface, and calmly surveyed the surroundings, as if to say: "Well, my little boy, that's all you know about turtles biting before warm weather."
"There's a target for us," said Martin. "Let him have a bullet."
As quick as a flash both boys grasped their pistols, which they took pride in wearing whenever they went into the woods or along the river, and fired at the same instant. One ball pierced the turtle's head. It gave several clumsy strokes, then gradually sunk, leaving a bloody streak behind.
From his place of concealment Stayford watched this exhibition of skill. "It is well for me that I am not here to meet those boys in a fair fight with pistols," he thought to himself. "How quick it was done, too. Of course it was that young Owen. He seems to handle a pistol as well as he does a rifle, and the very pistol he won at the shooting-match. How I would like to have one of that make," and Walter Stayford examined the rusty cap and ball revolver which hung at his side.
"Your bullet hit him," said Owen, who thought that in his eagerness to fire rapidly he had shot above the turtle.
"I reckon it's hard to judge," replied Martin.