He was only partly right. The girl had played a part in it all, but not exactly in the way he thought.
“Just what you been doing with this thing?” Drew asked, taking up Johnny’s bow, as he entered.
“Hunting.”
“What did you kill?” Drew’s brow wrinkled. “You couldn’t kill much.”
“Couldn’t I though!”
Johnny drew forth an arrow and handed it to him. “Exhibit A. I will ask you to examine the point.” Drew felt of the razor-like edge and whistled.
Taking up a square of pine board, Johnny set it against the far end of the room. Then, nocking the arrow, he sent it fleeting. The arrow struck squarely in the middle, passed quite through the board and buried itself in the wainscoting.
“Oh—ah!” said Johnny. “’Fraid I’ve marred your paint.”
“Silent murder!” murmured Drew. “What a spiteful little thing of power!
“Wouldn’t be bad; not half bad,” he mused a moment later.