Twice had the pin dropped from West’s fingers, but the third attempt had securely fastened the target in place.
“Now, then, Bess, three holes within an inch apart, and only three shots,” said West, as he stepped aside. James ran and concealed himself behind a tree, as if he really feared being shot.
For a moment Bess stood still, lifted the gun, examined it to see that the cartridges were all right, adjusted the sights correctly, and then with a firm, decisive movement placed the weapon against her shoulder. A sharp report and one mark was recorded; the click of the lever and another shot, and then the third. She stood with the butt of the gun resting on her foot, as she watched eagerly as both boys hurried forward to view the record. Both were pointing and measuring and talking. She heard James say “not quite” and West replied “near enough.”
“If it is not correct, I have lost,” said Bess, as she started towards the tree. She found two holes together and the third a little more than one inch to the left.
“Take one more shot, Bess; I know you can hit it,” said West, as he assured himself that the gun was loaded and handed it back to the girl. Bess resumed her position, and the next shot cut directly between the other two, making one large mark on the paper.
“Good,” cried both the boys at once, and they came laughingly forward to present her the pretty new weapon. James cleared his throat preparatory to making a presentation speech, and as the words “In behalf of” were said, Bess threw her arms about his neck and then placed both her hands over his mouth.
“Thanks, Henry, it is a perfect beauty,” said Bess, as she accepted the gun. As she read engraved on one side of the handle, her name, “Bess Fletcher” and on the other, HW brand, she extended her hand and happy tears filled her eyes.
Both men demanded that she give the pistol a trial, and both were really astonished to see how quickly she used it and how accurate were her aim and judgment of distance.
“See, I have the pocket in my skirt all ready for it,” and the gun slid into the ingenious opening near the waist, leaving only the handle inconspicuously exposed. “You see, I was determined to win, although I really cannot see what possible use it can ever be to me. I could not bear to shoot a bird, and as far as defense, what can harm me, Henry?”
“I have carried a gun here on the range always,” remarked West, as he drew one from his holster, “and I have never used it but once, and that was to shoot a rattlesnake which put up a fight. See, here are the rattles,—eleven and the button.” Taking off his hat he showed the interested pair where he wore it on his hat-band. “Another time I had it drawn and cocked, but,”—he paused; “but—I replaced it.” Bess saw him bite his lip as if the memory of the incident, even, filled him with hate. Neither asked what the occasion was, but as he carefully looked at the weapon his face told them that he might use it again. He thrust it back into its leathern receptacle, giving the holster a firm pat, as if to assure himself the gun was secure—and ready.