“Not a bit. Yon little creature is a precious little thief; it’s just been at our corn-crib. By killing it, I do justice in a double sense: I punish the thief, and reward the good dog. Here goes!”
The squirrel, scared from its depredation on the corn, sweeps nimbly over the ground towards the nearest tree. Wolf having espied it, rushes after in headlong pursuit. But it is a rare chance indeed when a dog captures one of these animals upon the ground; and Wolf, as usual, is unsuccessful.
He has “treed” the squirrel; but what of that? The nimble creature, having swooped up to a high limb, seats itself there, and looks down upon its impotent pursuer with a nonchalant defiance—at intervals more emphatically expressing the sentiment by a saucy jerk of its tail. But this false security proves the squirrel’s ruin. Deceived by it, the silly animal makes no effort to conceal its body behind the branch; but, sitting upright in a fork, presents a fair mark to the rifle. The girl raises the piece to her shoulder, takes aim, and fires.
The shot tells; and the tiny victim, hurled from its high perch—after making several somersaults in the air—falls right into the jaws of that hungry savage at the bottom of the tree. Wolf makes his breakfast upon the squirrel.
This young Diana of the backwoods appears in no way astonished at the feat she has performed; nor yet Lilian. Doubtless, it is an everyday deed.
“You must learn to shoot, Lil.”
“O sister, for what purpose? You know I have neither the taste for it, nor the skill that you have.”
“The skill you will acquire by practice. It worth knowing how, I can assure you. Besides it is an accomplishment one might stand in need of some day. Why, do you know, sister, in the times of the Indians, every girl understood how to handle a rifle—so father says. True, the fighting Indians are gone away from here; but what if you were to meet a great hear in the woods?”
“Surely I should run away from him.”
“And surely I shouldn’t, Lil. I have never met a bear, but I’d just like to try one.”