Chrissie clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s good!” she said.
Dillon didn’t say anything. He fired once more. The branch dropped a little. “Now you have a go,” he said, getting slowly to his feet.
Chrissie came up to him, her eyes fixed on the gun. She had forgotten him. Her mind was only for the gun.
He said with difficulty, “You stand here.”
She was quite close to him, her face intent and excited. Dillon turned a little sideways, slipping the clip out. He wasn’t taking any chances. He put the gun in her hand, then he moved a little behind her.
She stood, her eyes fixed on the branch of the tree.
“You hold the gun like this.” He put his hand on her wrist, raising her arm and pointing the gun. Her firm flesh burnt in his hand. He felt a little shudder run through her, but she was so anxious to fire the gun that she let him hold her.
The blood pounding in his ears, he gripped her round her waist with his other hand. He said thickly, “Don’t get scared…. I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”
The gun slipped out of her hand. It was forgotten immediately. The terrifying, tightening pressure of his hands sent her into a blind panic. She stood trembling, her eyes going wild. She began to mumble.
Dillon snarled, “Stop that goddam row!”