Page:The American review - a Whig journal of politics, literature, art, and science (1845).djvu/138

124 They finally gave him up, therefore, and Jack might after all, have been left in peace to love Molly and the children as hard as he pleased, and indulge his passion for marksmanship only at the expense of the dumb, wild things around him, but that he was accidently led to make an unfortunate display of it. A few log huts near the center constituted the county town. Here was the grocery, or store, as it was dignified—at which alone powder and lead and whisky were to be obtained for many miles around. Jack happened to get out of ammunition and came into this place for a fresh supply. Attracted by the whisky, this was the head quarters of the Regulators, and they were all collected for a grand shooting match, and of course getting drunk fast as possible to steady their nerves. When Jack arrived, he found them gathered in a group under a cluster of trees, several hundred yards from the house. It had been some time since there had been any altercation between any of them and himself; and though he supposed it was all forgotten, yet he felt some little disinclination to joining them, and had resolved not to do it. But as once, and again, and again, that sharp report he loved so well to hear would ring out, followed by the clamors, exclamations and eager grouping of the men around the target to critically examine the result of each shot, his passion for the sport, and curiosity to see how others shot, overcome a half-defined feeling that he was going to do what, for Molly's sake, was an imprudent thing. Hinch, the Regulator Captain, had always been the unrivalled hero of such occasions; for apart from the fact that he was really an admirable shot, he was known to be so fierce, blustering and vindictive a bully, that nobody dared try very hard to beat him, since he would be certain to make a personal affair of it with whoever presumed to be so lucky or so skillful. Now, every body in the county was well aware of this but Jack, and he either was not aware, or did not care for the matter, if he did know it. He knew, though, that Hinch was a famous shot; and noticing that he was preparing to shoot, started to join them, determined to see for himself what they called good shooting. He came swinging himself carelessly among them, with long, heavy strides, as they were all vociferating in half drunken raptures over the glorious sliot just made by Hinch—and he, in his customary manner, was swearing and raving at every one around him, taunting them with their bungling, and defying them to try again. Observing Jack he jerked the target away, and with a loud grating laugh, thrust it insultingly close to his face:—"Hah! Jack Longlegs! They say you can shoot! Look at that! Look close, will you?" pushing it closer to his eyes. "Can you beat it." Jack stepped back and looking deliberately at the board target, said very dryly—"Pshaw! the cross aint clean out! I should'nt think I was doin any great things to beat such shootin as that!" "You should'nt, should'nt you?" roared Hinch, furious at Jack's coolness. "You'll try it, wont you? I'd like to see you! You must try it! You shall try it! We'll see what sort of a swell you are!" "Oh!" said Jack, altogether unruffled, "If I must, I must! Put up his board thar, men. If you want to see me shoot through every hole you can make, I'll do it for ye!"—and walking back to the "off hand" stand at forty paces, by the time the "markers" had placed the board against the tree, he had wheeled and, slowly swinging his long rifle down from his shoulder to the level, fired as quick as thought. "It's a trick of mine!" remarked he, nodding his head toward Hinch who stood near, while he was lowering his gun to the position for reloading—" It's a trick I caught from always shooting at varmint's eyes! I never takes 'em any whar else! It's a notion I've got!" At this moment the men standing near the target, who had rushed instantly with great eagerness to see the result, shouted, while one of the "markers" held it aloft over their heads—" He's done it! His ball's the biggest—he's driv it through your hole and made it wider!"

Hinch turned pale. Rushing forward he tore the target away from the "marker" and examining it minutely, shouted hoarsely—" It's an accident! he can't do it again! He's a humbug! I'll bet the ears of a buffalo calf against his that he can't do it again! He's afraid to shoot with me again!" "Oh," said Jack, winking aside at the men, "if you mean by that bet, your ears against mine, I take it up! Boys, fix a new board up thar, with a nice cross on the center, and I will show the Captain, here the clean thing in shootin'!" As he said this he laughed good-humoredly, and the men could not help joining him. Hinch, who