Caleb opened the door, but now said "Step in." If he was
displeased with the others coming he kept it to himself. While Yan
was looking at the snow-shoes Guy discovered something much more
interesting on the old man's bunk; that was the white revolver, now
cleaned up and in perfect order. Caleb's delight at its recovery,
though not very apparent, was boundless. He had not been able to buy
himself another, and this was as warmly welcomed back as though a
long-lost only child.
"Say, Caleb, let's try a shot. I bet I kin beat the hull gang,"
exclaimed Sapwood.
Caleb got some cartridges and pointed to a white blaze on a stump
forty yards away. Guy had three or four shots and Yan had the same
without hitting the stump. Then Caleb said, "Lemme show you."
His big rugged hand seemed to swallow up the little gun-stock. His
long knobbed finger fitted around the lock in a strange but familiar
way. Caleb was a bent-arm shot, and the short barrel looked like his
own forefinger pointing at the target as he pumped away six times in
quick succession. All went into the blaze and two into the charcoal
spot that marked the centre.
"By George! Look at that for shooting!" and the boys were loud in
their praise.
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