No one spoke. It was against the unwritten laws of a vessel for pistols to be owned forward of the main cabin. Beale finally answered for the rest.
"Nary a pistol, sir."
"Then," said Carlsen, "I'll give you an exhibition myself. Any bottles left? Beale, will you toss them for me?"
There were eight shots in the automatic, and Carlsen smashed seven bottles in mid-air. He missed the last, but retrieved himself by breaking it as it dipped in the wake. The hunters shouted their appreciation.
"Break all of 'em?" Lund asked Rainey. "Enny bottles left at all?"
He walked toward the taffrail, addressing Carlsen.
"Kin you shoot by sound as well as by sight, Doc?" he challenged.
"I fancy not," said Carlsen.
"If I had my eyes I'd snapshoot ye for a hundred bucks," said Lund. "As it is, I might target one or two. Rainey, have some one run a line, head-high, an' fix a bottle on it, will ye? I ain't got a gun o' my own, Doc," he continued, "will you lend me yours?" Carlsen filled his clip and Lund turned toward Rainey, who was rigging the target.
"I'll want you to tap it with a stick," he said. "Signal-flag staff'll do fine."