CHAPTER IX.
THE SHOOTING - MATCH.

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SHOOTING-MATCH in the days of the pioneers was always sure to attract a large crowd of spectators and a goodly number of marksmen. Such was the case in Tyng Township. It is true there had been a spirited trial of the kind at the last Thanksgiving, among the Tyngsmen, but over eight months had elapsed since then, and as keen an interest was felt on this occasion as before. In fact, there was greater excitement and anxiety, as certain elements had entered into this contest which had been unknown in the other. Previously there had been merely a friendly rivalry among kindred spirits. Now scores were to be settled between antagonistic parties.

The match had been the outcome of a boyish dispute and quarrel. Willie Tyng, a grandson of the celebrated Captain Tyng of the " snow-shoe expedition," and Archie Gamble, son of one of the foremost Scotch-Irish settlers, had together shot at an eagle. One shot missed the bird, while the other brought the victim to the ground. Then each claimed the honour of the successful shot, each being really at a loss to prove his assertion. From angry words they came to challenge each other to a test with the gun, in order to show who was the better marksman. Then, the friends of the two taking up the dispute, plans were made for a general match, which all could enter who wished.

As the most convenient grounds for the affair, the plateau on the summit of the elevation known as Chestnut Corners, or the Three Pines, was selected. This had really been chosen as the site for a proposed meeting-house, so a clearing large enough for the occasion had been made.

Fortunately, the day did not promise the excessive heat of the closing of July, and the fog which had hung over the river during the morning had lifted, so the weather was all that could be asked.

" I suppose you will win the prize in the first class," said Norman to the Woodranger, as he walked along on the right hand side of the forester, while Rob Rogers kept step on the other side.

" Doubtful, my lad, doubtful. Such sport does well enough for boys, but it seems to me a wanton waste o' powder to an ol' man, who has but enough for the game he must o' necessity bring down. Then, too, having been perambulating the woods so much of late, I had nary inkling o' such doings. However, I 'vise you to try a bead, just to show 'em that with proper practice you can ketch the bird's eye, e'en if it be a hawk."

" You must enter on our side, Woodranger," said Rob. " We're going to beat 'em to-day if it takes a tooth."

"Ordinarily that is right, Robby, but it is good reason why I should not mix in the 'fair. 'Twould only stir bad blood and aggravate the ol' wound. No, no, lads, I'm neutral in this quarrel. It's my humble opinion this match had better been settled "mong the lads, where it begun. A shooting-match is a dangerous 'fair where there is hot blood ready to be spilt. It looks so there was going to be a goodish crowd."

They were then approaching the grounds, which were already thronged with loud-talking men and boys, who had come!,early so as not to miss any of the "fun."

Already the committee, consisting of three men from each party, had perfected the preliminary arrangements. The contesting marksmen had been divided into two classes. The boys, or younger members of the rival factions, were to pit themselves against each other first, after which the men were to try their more experienced hands. This decision meeting with the approval of all, the names of the youthful claimants for the honour were listed, until six on each side had been included.

Among those on the Tyng Township part were Johnny Goffe, Willie Tyng, John Spaulding, and Burton Woods, with two others. The Scotch-Irish were represented by Norman McNiel, Robert Rogers, Archie Gamble, and three more, whose names need not be given.

Our hero had been somewhat loath to participate in the trial, though he felt certain he need not feel ashamed of his skill with his rifle. Woodranger had advised him to enter the list, so he had done so. Some objection was raised at first to Robert Rogers, as he lived out of town. But when he cheerfully offered to withdraw, it was almost demanded by all that he remain.

This selection of the marksmen took nearly half an hour's time. Then a hundred yards, the distance agreed upon, was measured off, and the target put up against the trunk of a big pine. The object at which they were to shoot was a stave about six inches wide and a couple of feet long, which had been rived from a pine expressly for this occasion. Near its centre had been marked a spot the size of a bullet, which was called the bull's-eye. Around this a line had been traced, making a circle just an inch in diameter. Outside of this mark were two more circles, each an added inch in size, so the largest was three inches across. Whichever side should succeed in placing the greater number of bullets inside the inch ring would be declared the victor. Should all fail to come so near to the bull's-eye, the party which should put the most inside the second or middle circle would be the winner. Failing in this the third circle would count, but no bullet hitting the stave outside that should, under any circumstances, be counted at all.

By this time seventy-five persons had gathered on the clearing, an anxious, curious, excitable crowd, anticipating the result with conjectures in regard to the relative skill of the different contestants. It was pretty generally agreed that the parties were very evenly matched, though the ability of Norman was less known than that of his companions.

" Now, stand back, so the boys can have a chance at a clear field," said Captain Goffe, who had been unanimously chosen master of ceremonies. A skurrying to get out of the way followed. Woodranger, who had scarcely spoken since the beginning, took a position where he could command a view of the whole situation. Assuming his favourite position, with arms akimbo across the muzzle of his rifle, he watched and waited in silence.

It had been decided that the firing should be done alternately by the two parties. It fell to the Tyng boys to lead, and young Goffe stepped into the small arena designated as the marksman's stand. Taking careful aim, he sent the first ball inside the smallest ring, amid the cheers of those who were in sympathy with him.

" Beat that with yer Gambles and McNiels if you can!" called out a lusty voice. "Three cheers for Johnny Goffe!"

Three hearty huzzas were given for the boy marksman, while the name of the first on the list of the Scotch-Irish was called. He was a tall, strapping youth by the name of MacKnight, afterward noted as a sturdy patriot in the French and Indian wars and in that of American Independence. Perhaps he was overconfident of his skill, for, with a hasty aim, he sent his bullet barely in the second ring. Groans on the part of the English succeeded, but not a cheer from their rivals. The disappointed lad retired crestfallen from the scene.


Again the Tyng portion of the crowd was on the alert, as the second of their favourites took his position. Put on his guard perhaps by the failure of MacKnight, he raised his gun slowly and carefully until it was on a line with the mark. His hand trembled, showing the suppressed excitement under which he was labouring. Hesitating a moment, he lowered the weapon, while the Scotch-Irish took advantage of the action to break forth into loud jeers.

The lack- of confidence the boy marksman evinced was manifested by the result of his shot. His bullet fell outside of the second line, and the opposing party gave shouts of derision.

Archie Gamble's turn came next. He took a careful aim, occupying what seemed to the bystanders a long time, but fired at his first poise.

" First ring! " cried the foremost of those who rushed forward to examine the stave. A deafening cheer went up from the Scotch-Irish. But this applause proved premature, for, upon closer examination, it was found that the lead, while it had cut the line, lay with its larger part outside of the mark. The Tyng boys were still ahead.

Willie Tyng then took the stand, sending a bullet with such accuracy that it lodged inside the smallest ring. The applause from his admirers was louder and more prolonged than any before.

This so disconcerted the next marksman that he missed the stave altogether! At least that was the excuse his friends made. Be that as it might, the result was the same.

One-half of the rivals had now tried their hands and the Tyng boys were well ahead. As soon as he could make himself heard for the wild cries uttered, the person, who had interjected his boastful words before, again shouted :
"Git home, ye sons o' Scotch-Irish Macs, and take yer blunderbusses with yer. They may do to hang yer pots an' kittles on, but they never — "

Captain Goffe tried to check this foolish speech at the outset, but the speaker would not stop, though the cheers of his companions drowned his concluding words.

The sun of the Tyng boys seemed to be in the ascendant surely, for their fourth representative placed his bullet inside the magical circle. Their score now stood at three. Every Scotch-Irish boy left on the list had got to score the centre circle in order to make a record even with their rivals. Even the most candid of their opponents could not blame the English crowd for the loud huzzas which followed their last triumph.

" Norman McNiel! " called off Captain Goffe, as soon as he could make himself heard above the confusion of voices. Then the young refugee stepped quickly into the ring, and silence again fell on the scene. No one present really knew his ability as a marksman, and it is safe to say he was watched with keener interest and deeper anxiety than any one before him. Should he fail, the Scotch-Irish might as well bid adieu to their hopes. More curious than anxious, the rival party looked on in silence, somewhat indifferent as to the result.

This being his first appearance before a crowd, and realising how much was depending upon himself and his two companions, Norman felt a nervousness which was ominous of his failure. It was with difficulty he quieted his nerves enough to hold his gun steadily. He had been taught that the first sight was best, and the report of his weapon rang out before the spectators were prepared for the shot.

But, as usual, some one was beside the stave in the twinkling of an eye. No one was expecting the announcement he yelled forth in wild excitement, unless it was the Woodranger, who had smiled as he had seen Norman pull the trigger :
"The bull's-eye ! He's cut out the dot! "

At first the spectators could not realise the truth of these words, but as soon as it was found to be so such shouts went from the Scotch-Irish as awoke the surrounding woods and put to shame the applause of their rivals.

" It is the handsomest shot I've seen for many a clay," frankly declared Captain Goffe, who made no attempt to still the shouts, though his sympathies were really with the other side.

It was a proud moment for Norman, though he retired modestly to the background. Woodranger, speaking for the first time since the opening of the match, was heard to say:
" The lad has it in him. It is a natural knack few can boast of. Aweel, it will be so much to the red man's cost, or I cannot read the futur'."

The fifth Tyng representative failed to get nearer the bull's-eye than the outer edge of the second ring. His competitor sent his bullet so as to cut the inside circle, very similar to the shot of Archie Gamble. His effort was considered better than the others, however, as he made a perfect line shot.

The sixth and last contestant for the honour of Tyng Township proved himself worthy of the confidence placed in him. His bullet struck by the side of Johnny Goffe's. The Tyng boys had now assured their triumph beyond dispute, no matter what the result of the concluding trial. So they were jubilant, while the Scotch-Irish were correspondingly low-spirited.

The latter party had, wisely or not, kept their most hopeful champion for the last. For his years, Robert Rogers had been considered the best shot in Silver River country. Thus some persisted in cheering, as he took the stand. A portion of the opposition improved the opportunity to deride the boy marksman.

" Give 'em all th' chance that belongs to 'em," cried a burly onlooker. " We're safe. See Rob's hand tremble. It's ten to one he couldn't hit th' broadside o' a deer. Say, Rob, did ye ever hev th' buck fever ? "

"Close your, mouth or I'll take your head for a target, Bill Exeter, and I'll hit the bull's-eye, too," cried young Rogers, sharply, as he prepared to take aim. He was nettled and disappointed by the blundering shots of all his associates, except Norman. " 'Taint no fair show, anyway," he continued, " when a bull's-eye don't count more'n a ringer. I told 'em so and — "

Spang! rang out the sharp report of his weapon, in the midst of his own speech. The smoke had not cleared away before the cry came tauntingly above the medley of sounds : " Rob ain't hit the stave ! "

" Prove it or I'll make you eat them words ! " he exclaimed, fiercely, starting toward the target.

" It's so, and I can prove it by Captain Goffe. There ain't no new hole made in the stave since Ben Butterfield fired. Where's your boasts now, Rob Rogers ?"

"As sound as a nut. No new hole in the stave, eh ? Does that prove that I ain't hit the bull's-eye ? Look where Norman McNiel put his lead, and if I ain't got a chunk of lead there on top of his I'll never draw bead again on buck nor redskin."

The youthful scout showed that he was terribly in earnest, and a deep silence fell on the scene, while Captain Goffe, removing the target, began an examination for the bullet in the pine. In a minute he had extricated a piece of lead, somewhat flattened, but with the shape of the bullet still remaining. As he held this up to the gaze of the spectators, he said:
" McNiel's bullet is still left in the tree, directly beneath where this was embedded. Rob was right; he put his bullet through the bull's-eye in the exact track—"

He was not allowed to finish. The Scotch-Irish spectators began to yell themselves hoarse. The score of their team, though lower than the other side, showed two of the best shots which had been made. If they had been defeated, it was a proud defeat.

Rob Rogers crossed over to where Norman and Woodranger were conversing, and grasping our hero's hand, exclaimed:
" Mac, I like your style, and I want you for a friend. When you go on the trail of the red enemy I want you to let me go with you. Woodranger, I wish to thank you for training me in the way you have."

" Tut, tut, lad ! the knack o' drawing a true bead is God's gift, not man's. He who gave life sees fit to give the power to take it. It is the manner in which that gift is used that counts in the great string o' knots at the last. You both made good shots, lads, and you'll make a powerful team — a powerful team, lads."

"I shall be glad to go with you, Rob," said Norman, as he clasped the other's hand.
Little did either of them dream of the stern reality which was to cement the boyish pledge so impulsively made. Little did any of those young marksmen dream of the more trying test of their skill which was so soon to come. Those who now hung their heads with shame were destined to lift them with a proud consciousness of duty well done in the savage warfare so soon to carry terror to their New England homes.
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