Part 12 (2/2)

”Great pos-sim-mons!” exclaimed c.o.o.n-Hollow Jim.

”Hurrah! hurrah for the boy!”

”Hurrah for the boy! hurrah for the boy!” re-echoed the frantic crowd.

The excitement spread. The hors.e.m.e.n, who had reined up near the grounds, called to those in front of them. These in turn signaled to the moving groups farther on, until the alarm reached the bands that had first departed. What had happened, the different parties knew not. Certainly it was something extraordinary. So without exception each horseman put spurs to his animal and galloped back. When Owen raised his rifle for the last and crowning shot, a deathlike silence fell upon the spectators. But this silence was of short duration. The robin flew straight into the air, then wheeled around with a graceful curve--a sharp report, and down the bird twirled to the ground.

Martin all the while was standing apart from the crowd, watching Owen's every movement, confident of his power, yet dreading some possible accident. As the twentieth bird flew from the trap, he buried his face in his hands, nor did he dare look up until the wild cheers told that his friend had won.

Owen was nearly suffocated by the men who pressed around him. ”Great pos-sim-mons! don't be a killin' of the feller!” cried c.o.o.n-Hollow Jim, who had left the platform and was standing close to the boy's side. With this expostulation he lifted Owen to his shoulder, worked his way through the crowd like an old crusader on the battle-field, and placed his charge on the judge's bench.

Squire Grundy rose to make a speech, but the crowd yelled him down, and demanded that the two heroes of the day should come forward again to test their skill. Owen's heart beat with honest pride as he stepped down from the platform and walked side by side with his giant opponent,--still his wannest friend. Again David and Goliath came forth to battle.

Goliath was the first to fire; he killed his bird, but so did David; he brought down the second, but David also brought down the second; he killed the third, the fourth, the fifth; but David did the same. At each shot the mobile crowd swayed to and fro and reiterated its deafening cheers. Then there came another silence for, alas! Goliath had failed to hit the fluttering mark. The silence was prolonged, for each one seemed to hold his breath as he watched Owen's last attempt. Martin again closed his eyes and hid his face within his hands. He heard the sharp report of Owen's rifle, and then such shouts as he had never listened to before. The yearly shooting-match was over, and Owen Howard had made a record which was never before or afterward equaled.

Our little hero would certainly have been crushed to death had he not been rescued a second time by his giant friend, who again carried him to the platform, piled together the benches of the stand, and high above the heads of both the judge and people placed the youthful victor.

When Owen had received the glittering, long-coveted prize, c.o.o.n-Hollow Jim arose and demanded a hearing. He spoke of the years that he had used the rifle, of his many victories in different parts of the State, and concluded by frankly owning that he had met his superior. With this acknowledgment he removed the pistol-strap from his own waist and handed it to Owen, and upon his refusal to take it, despite all protestations, secured the belt around the boy's waist. c.o.o.n-Hollow Jim never again appeared at a shooting match.

Years afterward old men were wont to speak of this eventful day, when a youthful hero took the prize from the best marksman in the State.

CHAPTER XIII.

BERTHA HEARS THE NEWS OF VICTORY.

The night after the shooting-match was damp and chilly. Near the fire which roared up the s.p.a.cious chimney in what was called the family-room, sat Mr. Howard whittling at a wooden latch for the kitchen door. Mrs.

Howard was busy with her knitting needles, while Bertha kept the spinning-wheel in perpetual motion.

”It's getting late,” said the father, as the old-fas.h.i.+oned clock above the mantel struck eleven. ”We can't wait for Owen much longer.”

”Oh, me! Let us wait, father! I shall not be able to close my eyes to-night until I've heard Owen tell all about the shooting match. I do just hope he will win! Don't you?” answered Bertha, and in her excitement she made the spinning-wheel buzz and screech.

”You have said that at least twenty thousand times to-day,” drawled out the farmer, as he cut a long shaving from the hickory stick in his hand.

”Yes! she has been wis.h.i.+ng, and wis.h.i.+ng, and wis.h.i.+ng all day,” remarked the wife.

”You don't know how I feel,” said Bertha. ”Oh! I just hope he'll win! I can't stand this waiting any longer!”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the barking of Bounce.

”Oh! there he is!” cried Bertha, letting the yarn drop from the spindle, and running to the door. ”Owen! Owen! did you win, Owen? Owen, did you win?”

”What is all this excitement about?” inquired Father Byrne, as he dismounted from his horse and walked into the yard.

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