At that moment one of the great assaults occurred. The old man used his gun like an expert. He wasted no bullet. He took aim every time and fired only when he knew his aim to be effective. Yet he fired rapidly.
Tom Booker, who stood next to him, said as the advancing column was swept away: “You must have shot birds on the wing in your time.”
The old man answered: “I did up to twenty years ago; but then I sort o’ lost my sight, you know, and my interest in shootin’.”
“Well, you’ve got ’em both back again,” called out Billy Goodwin, from down the line.
“Yes,” said the old man. “You see I had to. It’s this way: I had six boys and six gells. When the war broke out I thought the six boys could do my family’s share o’ the fightin’. Well, they did their best, but they didn’t have no luck. One of ’em was killed at Manassas, two others in a cavalry raid, and the other three fell in different actions—’long the road, as you might say. We ain’t seemed to a had no luck. But it’s just come to this, that if the family is to be represented, the old man must git up his shootin’ agin, or else one o’ the gells would have to take a hand. So here I am.”
Just then the third advance was made. A tremendous column of heroic fellows was hurled upon us, only to be swept away as its predecessors had been. Two or three minutes did the work, but at the end of that time the old man fell backward, and Tom Booker caught him in his arms.
“You’re shot,” he said.
“Yes. The family don’t seem to have no luck. If one of my gells comes to you, you’ll give her a fair chance to shoot straight, won’t you, boys?”