Free The Last Confederate by Gilbert Morris Page B

was not at all surprised when another hole joined the first two—this time touching the mark.
    Wickham took the guns and loaded them this time, speaking with excitement. “You’re a natural shot, Thad! I’ve seenit a few times. Why, you take the Hardee twins. Robert’s been practicing all his life, but he still can’t hit a mule from ten paces. But the first time Gil Hardee picked up a gun, he could hit dead center. We took him out squirrel hunting that day—and on his first time out, he shot seven times and brought home six gray squirrels! And that wasn’t with a shotgun but an old Enfield rifle!” He finished loading the guns and said, “I think you can beat him, Thad—but in a real match, there’s a lot of noise. Gil Hardee told me once that in a match he pretends he’s in a big glass jar that shuts out all the noise. He just gets in, closes the lid, and all he can see is that bull’s eye! Just try your best to ignore the crowd. I’ll load the guns for the match. Well, let’s get back.”
    Inside the Big House, the young people were finishing up a big breakfast of bacon and eggs and fluffy biscuits smeared with yellow butter and apple jelly. They had scarcely slept at all—the girls having stayed awake and talked; the men playing cards and talking about the war.
    Mark said as he finished, “You ladies will have to excuse us for an hour or so. We have a little business outside.”
    “Oh, we know all about the shooting match, Mark,” Rowena smiled. “You needn’t think you’re going to leave us out! Come on, girls, let’s get our boots!”
    “It’s too cold outside!” Dan protested. “And besides, it won’t be any fun for you.”
    “Why, I hear Beau is going to defeat the Yankee,” Belle laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
    They quickly bundled up in warm coats and boots, and Sky said with a frown on his face, “Mark, I think this is a mistake.”
    “So do I, sir, but Beau and Wickham have gone too far to back down.”
    Beau came in at that moment with a rifle in his hands. He held it up, saying with pride, “Take a look at this, all of you—a new Whitworth!”
    They had heard about the English-made Whitworths, thefinest long-range guns in the world, and rushed over to admire the weapon. Beau finally retrieved it, then said, “Let’s go whip this Yankee, boys!” And they rushed outside with a great deal of pushing and yelling.
    Pet Winslow ran to catch up to her father as he followed the rowdy crowd down the road to an old log cabin a half mile away. Noticing the frown on her face, Sky asked, “What’s wrong, Pet?”
    “It’s not fair, Papa!” she said, biting her lip. She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. “They’re making a fool out of Thad! Beau’s been shooting all his life—and poor Thad’s never even shot a gun. I think it’s mean!”
    Sky put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. “Men do foolish things sometimes, Pet—and this is one of them.” He looked at her with affection. “You’re just the same as when you were a little girl—always taking care of every stray kitten or worn-out hound that showed up at the house—just like your mama, I reckon.”
    “Thad’s not a dog or a cat! I don’t want him to get hurt.”
    Sky said nothing, for he could not stop the match, but he resolved to make it up to the boy later. When they arrived at the old cabin, he saw seven or eight young fellows standing off to one side. “Why, that’s Dooley Young!” he exclaimed. “Wonder what that bunch is doing here?”
    They soon discovered that Dooley and his friends had finished a wild night of celebration in Richmond and had somehow heard of the shooting match. “They’re all drunk,” Beau said with disgust. He had no use for Dooley or for the small farmers that lived close to the river.
    “Well, I guess we’ve had a drop or two ourselves, Beau!” Gil Hardee laughed. “You been puttin’ away too much whiskey for a man who’s goin’ to