Of the men who were present, at least three-fourths brought rifles, and soon began to amuse themselves by shooting for what they significantly denominated a quart. The remainder, gathered in groups, were either talking politics or discussing the claims of the respective candidates, with the exception of those who were in the Court-House, the Court being in session.
So much for the general appearance. Now let us enter some of these groups, and see if we cannot make ourselves familiarly acquainted with at least one of the actors. A tree is blazed,—a small black spot, made with moistened powder, is seen in its centre, and at a distance of about fifty yards, a crowd, composed chiefly of hunters, with now and then a woman or a child, have already collected. The candidates for the sheriffalty are also among the number.
“What shall we shoot for?” asked a hunter, as stepping out he toed the mark.
“Why, a quart to be sure,” was the reply.
Then throwing up his piece, crack went his rifle, and the crowd running to the target, cried, “not so coarse,—he grazed the black.”
“Coarse as rough bricks,” said a hunter, “he'll pay for the quart.”
“Clear away for the candidates!” was now the cry. “Bob, step forward, and show your metal.” Bob did as desired, and blazed away. The crowd again ran forward, and cried, “hurrah! for Bob Black,—he is into the black, but upon the outer edge.”
“That's not so bad,” said Bob.
“Bad as green gourds,” said our old friend Earth, “if it was a varmunt, and you could only see his eye.—Clear the track, I'm coming, with my head and tail both up.” Then stepping forward, he took his position:—a moment more, and crack went his rifle. The crowd again ran forward, and cried,—“into the centre. Hurrah for Earth,—he's a caution, I tell you.”
“I knowed it,” said Earth, “she never lies if I point her straight;” then turning to his opponent, Bob Black, “don't you think you would make a beautiful sheriff,—can't shoot nearer than the outside of a black. Bob, I'd change my name if I couldn't always stick by it.”