Belllounds took aim and fired. A thundering report shook the cabin. Dust and splinters flew from the post.
"I hit it!" he exclaimed, in delight. "I was sure I wouldn't, because I aimed 'way under."
"Reckon you did. It was a good shot."
Then a door slammed and Old Bill Belllounds appeared, his hair upstanding, his look and gait proclaiming him on the rampage.
"Jack! What'n hell are you doin'?" he roared, and he stamped up to the door to see his son standing there with the rifle in his hands. "By Heaven! If it ain't one thing it's another!"
"Boss, don't jump over the traces," said Wade. "I'll allow if I'd known the gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack to shoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made the racket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot."
"Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then I was mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief.... Did you fetch in the meat?"
"You bet. An' I'd like a piece for myself," replied Wade.
"Help yourself, man. An' say, come down an' eat with us fer supper."
"Much obliged, boss. I sure will."