Her mind switched back to Roxy, and her nerves quietened. Dillon didn’t touch her again. The thick wood opened out into a clearing. Dillon stopped. “I guess this’ll do,” he said.
He sat down on the grass. “Come on down,” he said, the pulse in the side of his head pounding. “I’ll show you how to fix the gun.”
She stood looking at him and Dillon tried to smile at her, but his face only grimaced. The look in his eyes frightened her. She moved back a pace.
Dillon took the clip out of his pocket. He tried to sound casual. “Gimme the gun.”
She leant forward, holding the gun out to him but keeping away. There was a tense frightened look on her face which made Dillon think of some timid animal, not sure of itself. He took the gun, his hand touching hers. Again she took a step back.
Dillon slipped the clip in and jerked the lever, bringing a slug into the chamber. He said, “Sit down…. I wantta show you how it works.”
She didn’t move. Dillon had the impression she was about to run away. He quickly turned from her. “Look over there,” he said, pointing across the clearing to a broken branch of a tree. It hung like a withered arm.
“Watch me pot it.” When he brought the gun up his hand was shaking. The gun-sight nickered up and down, and he cursed softly. “Don’t you get scared with the row,” he mumbled. He knew if he didn’t start shooting and hold her interest she would go. He could feel the panic that was mounting in her.
The gun cracked. In the stillness of the wood the noise was startling. Chrissie sighed. Although the roar of the gun had made her flinch, she wanted to try.
Dillon said, “I guess I ain’t so hot…. I missed it.” He tried again, gripping the gun until his hand sweated. He drew his breath in hard, holding it, then he squeezed the trigger. Again the gun cracked. This time a shower of splinters flew from the branch.