"
She started up suddenly to enter the house. He knew she was going for
her revolver.
"Never mind," he said, "here's mine. What can you do with it?"
"Shoot the block off your flag-halyards."
He smiled his unbelief.
"I don't know the gun," she said dubiously.
"It's a light trigger and you don't have to hold down. Draw fine."
"Yes, yes," she spoke impatiently. "I know automatics--they jam when
they get hot--only I don't know yours." She looked at it a moment. "It's
cocked. Is there a cartridge in the chamber?"
She fired, and the block remained intact.
"It's a long shot," he said, with the intention of easing her chagrin.
But she bit her lip and fired again. The bullet emitted a sharp shriek
as it ricochetted into space. The metal block rattled back and forth.
Again and again she fired, till the clip was emptied of its eight
cartridges. Six of them were hits. The block still swayed at the gaff-
end, but it was battered out of all usefulness. Sheldon was astonished.
It was better than he or even Hughie Drummond could have done. The women
he had known, when they sporadically fired a rifle or revolver, usually
shrieked, shut their eyes, and blazed away into space.
"That's really good shooting . . . for a woman," he said.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58