Sunday, December 4, 2016

Dead-eye Sam - Part Seven




Part Seven

     Millie braced the big gun on a post, got in position to fire, then wet her thumb, sticking it up in the air. “You have to learn to sense the wind blowing on your wet thumb. You have to know how much to allow for wind. This new buffalo gun is made to shoot a long way. You have to learn how much the bullet will drop in two hundred yards, or however far away your target is. See those three pumpkins I set up out there?
 They’re about head sized. Watch that middle pumpkin. You need to learn to do this. Just watch.”
     Millie carefully sighted the target in, held her breath, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The middle pumpkin exploded.



“OK now Sam, it’s your turn. We’ll move up to the hundred yard marker for today,” Millie said. “A good place to start.”

 That gun will kick, but the stock is padded. Hold it tight against you shoulder. There’s almost no wind now, and the bullet will drop less than the length of your little finger. Squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it. Aim at the left pumpkin.”
     Samantha was scared. She was shaking. This gun was far too big and heavy for her, but she tried. The first try nearly kicked her down. Dust was kicked up four feet or so to the left of the pumpkin, and was way short.
     Millie’s instruction went on and on, with each shot being analized, and corrections made. Samantha never hit a pumpkin that day, but she was slowly getting closer.
    “OK, Sam. That’s enough for today. Your shoulder will be sore for a day or two, but we’ll come back in a few days. You’re getting better.  And you will get better each time. I’ve got confidence in you. Good Job.”
     Samantha was thinking, I’ll work as hard as I can with this gun. I will get so good with it, I will never have to shoot at anyone. And I will show everyone how good I am, every chance I get, so they will all know. It’s my only way out.
     Millie had been right. Samantha did get better every time with that big gun. There never seemed to be a shortage of ammunition around for that big gun, and every member of the clan was encouraged to use as much as they wanted.
     Slim told them, “Our clan will only survive if we are all experts with that long-ranged gun. This country is moving toward war. I hear that Southerners who don’t join up ta fight are being forced ta fight or be hung. Well, nobody can force us to fight. If they kaint safely get within 300 yards uv us, without having a rifle ball put in their dang heads, how can they force us to do anything?”
     “This here war will be good for us. With all th’ farm and plantation men gone, off ta fight, our job will just be that much easier. The South will lose this fight, in th’ long run. They don’t have enough men. Our market will start to dry up, as the South gets all beat down. We gotta hit’um hard th’ first year, get all th’ money saved up we’ll ever need, then we can jest sit back, an’ watch th’ dang fools kill each other. This here war will make us rich, if we jest play our cards right, an’ ever body gets good enuf with our big gun.”
     “ We got all th’ ammo stashed away we’ll ever need. I wanta see ever last one uv our young’uns practicing ever day. You’ll answer to me if ye don’t.” And everybody knew exactly what that meant. Get good with that gun or die.
     Slim had been exactly right, on every count. His prediction was right on. Things with the war, as it later proved out, played out just as he said. Slim was very, very smart. And nobody knew that better than Slim.
     Samantha was very smart, as well. This all played right into  her plan. She went to the range every day. Before long, Millie was getting burned out on training Samantha. So, Samantha went alone. By the time she was eleven years old, about the time the Confederacy was forming, she was better than Millie. Others at the shooting range were beginning to tell tales of her skill with the big gun. Even Slim was noticing.
     “That durned kid Sam is jest flat good. She’s by far the best uv the youngn’s, and most uv th’ men. She can bust a punkin almost ever time at 300 yards. Funny thang, though. I send her out to get a mess uv squirrels, and she always comes back empty handed. She ain’t no good as a hunter, but I’ve got somethin’ else in mind fer her. “

     “Folks in town are all rowled up about goin’ ta war. They’s a big shootin’ match comin’ up in town next week. I’m agona send her in, by herself, to enter that contest. If she can do good, which I know she can, it will show those townies that even an eleven year old Dudley girl is a better shot than mosta them. And they will know, we’s all better than they are. So, they will all be too scairt to come out here, on Dudley land, ta wrangle us about joinin’ th’ war. That’ll give us a free pass. They’ll leave us alone.” Even Slim just had to smile; this may be his best idea ever. He was so wise, and, of course, he knew it. “But that thare name, Samantha, it’s gotta go. From this day farward, nobody calls her anything but Sam.” And nobody in the Clan ever did. They all liked the idea of staying alive far too well to cross Slim.

No comments:

Post a Comment