Stewart Edward White

“ Some scattered out into the grass to help the trapper to look for unbroken balls. Ordinarily Bobby loved to do this; but to-day he sidled up to where his friend was stooping over the japanned box. Bobby watched him a moment in silence, methodically laying away the used brass shells, one up and one down in regular succession.
"It's too bad you got beat," he ventured timidly at last.
Mr. Kincaid ceased his occupation, removed his pipe from his mouth, and looked up at Bobby searchingly.
"Youngster," he said kindly, "I'm not beat."
"You're behind," insisted Bobby, "and Newmark never misses." ”

“ Bobby was just under ten years old, but he could have told you all about that Flobert rifle—its weight, the length of its barrel, the number of grains of both powder and lead loaded in its various cartridges. Once he had cherished an ambition of saving industriously until he was a very old man and then buying it. ”

“ A referee and scorer were appointed from among the half-dozen non-shooting spectators.
"Newmark to shoot; Heinzman on deck!" called the scorer in a business-like voice.
The trapper ducked into his hole. Mr. Newmark thrust five loaded shells into his side pocket, picked his gun from the rack and stepped forward to the mark. Then he loaded one barrel of the gun and stood at ready. In those days nobody thought of standing gun to shoulder, as is the present custom. The rule was, "stock below elbow."
"Ready," said he in his dry incisive voice.
"Ready," repeated the trap puller at his elbow. ”

“ Kincaid.
Bobby started up eagerly, remembered, and with great care laid the Flobert, muzzle up, against the stump,
"That's right," approved Mr. Kincaid.
The bullet had penetrated the exact center of the bull's-eye!
"My!" cried Bobby, delighted. "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it, Mr. Kincaid? That was doing pretty well for the first time, wasn't it?"
But Mr. Kincaid was lighting his pipe, and seemed quite unimpressed.
"Bullet went straight (puff, puff) ," said he. "That's all you can say (puff, puff) . No one shot's a good shot (puff, puff) . Takes two to prove it (puff, puff) ." ”

“ Shooter's etiquette prohibited anything that even by remote possibility might "rattle" the contestants. Only the voices of the men at mark and the referee were heard, and the heavy hang of the black powder. Bobby liked to listen to the referee. Reporting, as he did, hundreds of results in the course of the afternoon, his intonation became mechanical.
"Dead!" he snapped in the crispest, shortest syllable, when the glass ball was broken by the charge,
"Law-s-s-t!" he drawled when the little sphere sailed away unharmed. ”

“ Bobby said what he thought.
"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, opening the the wooden box that ran along the floor of the the two-wheeled cart where the dashboard, had there been one, would have been placed, "this is the next thing: when you're through shooting, clean the gun. If you leave it overnight, the powder dirt will make a fine rust that you may never be able to get out; and rust will eat into the rifling and make the gun inaccurate. ”

“ Mr. Newmark brought his gun to his shoulder and discharged it apparently with one motion, before the ball had more than begun its flight. A roar of the noisy black powder shook the air. The glass sphere seemed actually to puff out in fine smoke. Only the feathers it had contained floated down wind.
"Dead!" announced the referee in a brisk business-like voice.
Mr. Newmark broke his gun and flipped the empty yellow shell into the box next him. A cloud of white powder smoke drifted down over the group. Bobby snuffed it eagerly. He thought it the most delicious smell in the world ”

“ Kincaid.
The discharge delayed so long that Bobby looked to see if a misfire had occurred; but when the ball reached the exact top of its swing, Mr. Kincaid broke it.
"One of the most reliable duck shots we have," said Bobby's neighbor to the stranger. "He shoots just like that, always. Never in a hurry; but he seems to get there. Kills a lot of game in the season."
The shoot progressed with almost the precision of a machine. Bobby amused himself by closing his eyes to hear the regular ready, pull, bang! that marked the progress of the score. ”

“ Kincaid, "and then you're all right."
He led the way to the smaller stump, and nonchalantly, as though it were not one of the most wonderful affairs in the world to own such a thing, produced a little square red box containing the cartridges. This he opened. Bobby gazed with the keenest pleasure on the orderly rows of alternate copper and lead dots.
"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, "kneel down behind the stump." He rested the rifle across it. "You know how to sight, don't you? I thought likely. When you pull the trigger, try to pull it steadily, without jerking. ”

“ They are generous, and large in spirit, and absolutely democratic—the millionaire and the mechanic meet on equal ground—and deliberate in humor, and dry of wit. The quiet chaffing, tolerant, good-humored, genuine intercourse of hunters cannot be matched in any other class. ”

“ That completed the list of arrangements, which were, in the light of modern methods, as every trap shooter of to-day will recognize, exceedingly crude.
The men, however, supplied the interest which the equipment might lack. At that time every trap-shot was also a field shot. The class which confines itself to targets had not even been thought of. And good picked-shots have in common everywhere certain qualities, probably developed by the life in the open, and the unique influences of woodland and upland hunting. ”

“ But now they turned off the main road through a gap in the snake-fence, and followed many wheel tracks to the farther confines of the field where, under a huge tree they could see a group of men. These hailed Mr. ”