Part 5 (1/2)
”Know what I've done? Of course I do. I've fired it.”
”_You've put a spell on it._”
”The deuce! Try it again!”
O'Hara shook his head.
”It would never miss such a mark as that unless it was bewitched. I've got to melt up that money of mine, or the thing will never be worth a half-penny again.”
When a Kentuckian's gun is bewitched, or has a ”spell upon it,” the only way in which he can free it of its enchantment, is by firing a silver bullet from it. Unless this is done, they steadfastly believe it can never be relied upon afterward.
O'Hara, accordingly, produced his bullet-mould, kindled a fire, which required much more blowing and care to fuse the metal than it did to melt lead or pewter. But he succeeded at last, melting down all his spare change to make the small, s.h.i.+ning bullet. This was rammed down his gun, a deliberate aim taken, and d.i.c.k announced that it had struck the mark plumb in the center. The charm was gone!
It would be uninteresting to narrate the different methods by which each of the three men demonstrated his remarkable skill with his favorite weapon. They fired at different distances, at objects in the air, and in each others' hands, and then discharged their pieces on a run, wheeling as quick as thought. Although the weapon used was the old flint-lock rifle, the dexterity exhibited by each could scarcely be excelled by that of the most famous sharp-shooters of the present day, with their improved guns. The exercise was continued for over two hours, when, as O'Hara was reloading his piece, the report of a rifle was heard upon the opposite side of the Miami, and the bullet whizzed within an inch of O'Hara's face. As all three looked across the river, they saw a faint, bluish wreath rising from the shrubbery, but no signs of the one who had fired the shot.
”I guess his gun has had a spell put on it,” said O'Hara, sneeringly.
”And I guess you'll get a spell put on you, if he tries that again,”
remarked d.i.c.k, carefully scrutinizing the opposite bank.
”Why doesn't he show himself, the coward? Like enough there is a whole party of Shawnees----”
”s.h.!.+ Something moved over there.”
”He's going to cross, I'll be shot if he isn't.”
A splash was now heard, as though something had been cast upon the surface of the water, and a moment later, a small Indian canoe, in which was seated a single person, shot from beneath the shrubbery, skimming over the river like a swallow, and headed directly toward the spot where the Riflemen were standing. d.i.c.k raised his rifle, but instantly lowered it with a laugh.
”It's n.o.body but Lew himself. He just fired to scare us.”
Propelled by a single paddle, the frail boat sped onward with great celerity, and its prow, in a few moments, grated lightly against the s.h.i.+ngle at the feet of the hunters, and their leader stepped forth.
”Been practicing, I see,” he remarked.
”A little; _you_ tried your hand, also.”
Lewis smiled, as he replied:
”A little fun, of course; but we've got better business on hand.”
”Let's hear it, for we are ready for any thing.”
”A lot of settlers are going through the woods, down below, and they need company, for the Shawnees have scented them as sure as the world.
I've promised them that we will see them through--where's Sego?”
suddenly asked the leader, looking around, as if searching for the one mentioned.
”He went off yesterday.”