"I shall do my best, Mart!" said Owen, "but, see, the men are getting ready. It's time for the second part."
"Now for work! Show them what you can do!"
CHAPTER XII.
KILLING GOLIATH WITH HIS OWN SWORD.
After the few preparations were completed, Squire Grundy again arose, and in a solemn voice announced the second part of the program.
Hurrah followed hurrah when Coon-Hollow Jim's name was the first to be drawn from the box, and the big giant stepped forth to win a second victory. How gracefully he swung his rifle from his shoulder! How true his aim! How telling was every shot! At one time he brought a robin to the ground before it had risen above the heads of the spectators; at another he let it sail so far away that to kill it seemed impossible. It mattered little which way they flew—to the right or left, up into the air, or directly from him—every shot was equally fatal. The marksman wondered at his own skill, for never before had he made such a record—twenty birds in twenty shots. How the crowd yelled! yelled louder and louder at each successive shot, until, at last, when the twentieth bird was killed, Coon-Hollow Jim was lifted from the ground and carried to the judge's platform.
After such an exhibition of rifle-craft, and such an outburst of wild enthusiasm, the shooting that followed was slow and uninteresting. Any one who failed in a single attempt was forced to retire, since by this failure he forfeited all chance of winning a prize. The man with the owl-like eyes missed the first robin at which he fired; the seedy representative from Poplar Flat shared the same fate, while the noted marksman from Green Briar disappointed his numerous friends by letting the fifth bird escape.
Then came Jerry's turn. The reappearance of the jolly old fiddler at the shooting-match was of itself sufficient to revive the waning enthusiasm of the spectators. "Swing corners," shouted a voice from the crowd. "Balance all," yelled another, for the sight of Jolly Jerry awakened many pleasant recollections of summer picnics and winter dances. He killed the first bird, the second, the third; then the crowd became excited again. The hurrahs were almost as deafening as those which Coon-Hollow Jim received. In fact, the giant marksman became restive in his seat as he saw bird after bird fall before the steady aim of the old trapper. Then there came a silence. It seemed as if every spectator there was suddenly stricken dumb. Every eye was riveted upon an object which was slowly becoming but a small speck in the sky. It was the robin which Jerry had missed—not missed altogether, however, for the bullet had cut several feathers from its wings, so that it flew with great difficulty.
A horseman galloped after it in order to bring it back if it should fall. This would count, provided the bird could be placed in the trap before five minutes had passed. The robin sailed toward the ground, then into the air again; here it fluttered, sailed and fluttered again. Would it fall? Yes—no. It reached the woods, and was safe. Jerry gazed at the crowd as if soliciting sympathy, then turned toward Coon-Hollow Jim, brandished his rifle in the air, and said: