"Well, twenty year ago I used to be a pretty good shot," Caleb
proceeded to explain with an air of unnecessary humility and a very
genial expression on his face. "But that's dead easy. I'll show you
some real tricks."
Twenty-five feet away he set up three cartridges in a row, their caps
toward him, and exploded them in succession with three rapid shots.
Then he put the revolver in the side pocket of his coat, and
recklessly firing it without drawing, much less sighting or even
showing it, he peppered a white blaze at twenty yards. Finally he
looked around for an old fruit tin. Then he cocked the revolver,
laid it across his right hand next the thumb and the tin across the
fingers. He then threw them both in the air with a jerk that sent the
revolver up ten feet and the tin twenty. As the revolver came down he
seized it and shot a hole through the tin before it could reach the
ground.
The boys were simply dumbfounded. They had used up all their
exclamations on the first simple target trial.
Caleb stepped into the shanty to get a cleaning-rag for his darling,
and Sam burst out:
"Well, now I know he never shot at Da, for if he did he'd 'a' got him
sure.
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