Free The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK™: 17 Classic Tales by Henry James, Ann Radcliffe, J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Gertrude Atherton Page B

get out of ammunition, and came into this place for a supply. Attracted by the whiskey, this was the headquarters of the Regulators, and they were all collected for a grand shooting-match, and of course getting drunk as 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, overcame 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 sure to make a personal affair of it with whoever presumed to be so lucky or so skillful. Now, everybody in the county was aware of this but Jack, and he was either 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 shot just made by Hinch—and he, in his customary manner, was swearing and raving at every one around him, and 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 Long-legs! They say you can shoot! Look at that! Look close, will you?” pushing it close to his eyes. “Can you beat it?”
    Jack stepped back, and looking deliberately at the target, said very drily—
    “Pshaw! The cross ain’t clean out! I shouldn’t think I was doin’ any great things to beat such shootin’ as that!”
    “You shouldn’t, shouldn’t 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 shoulders to the level, fired as quick as thought.
    “It’s fun of mine!” remarked he, nodding his head towards Hinch, who stood near, while he was lowering his gun to the position for reloading. “It’s a trick I caught from always shooting the varmints’ eyes! I never takes ’em anywhar else! It’s a way 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—“He’s done it! His ball is 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 agin his that he can’t do it agin! He’s afraid to shoot with me agin!”
    “Oh!” said