DAVID AND GOLIATH.
All was now ready. The judge rising from his seat said in a solemn tone:
"I have the honor, gentlemen, to announce the opening of the yearly
Kentucky shooting match. As I am to address you at length at the close
of the contest, I shall not now detain you by any inopportune remarks. I
was going to remark that--but no--I'll not keep the crowd waiting
longer. The men who are going to take part will please answer to their
names when called by the director of the field."
The names of the participants were put into a box. To avoid delay two
were drawn forth at a time; one firing while the other loaded.
Charlie Bowen was the first. The man at the target called out number
thirteen, and the crestfallen humiliated youth disappeared in the midst
of the crowd.
Poplar Flat's seedy representative sent two balls to number one, but
becoming nervous at the third shot he struck the target between six and
seven. Others then shot with varied success. "Green Briar" sent but one
ball home, that is, to number one. The next two, however, grouping
together in number three, made him the first among the twenty-six who
had already fired.
But two now remained, Owen Howard and Coon-Hollow Jim. So Father Byrne's
prediction was verified,--David and Goliath came forth to combat.
"Great pos--sim--mons! Youngster!" cried the old marksman, when he saw
the size of his opponent. "You is a brave boy to fight a feller like
me!" With these words he lifted Owen from the ground and carried him to
the place of battle.
Since Goliath's name was called first, he stepped to the front, and
raising his rifle sent the ball into the center of number one. Owen was
encouraged by the giant's familiarity. He, too, was conscious of his
power, so bringing his rifle to a level, with a true and steady aim he
fired.
"Great pos-sim-mons!" exclaimed Coon-Hollow Jim, as soon as he heard the
report of Owen's rifle. "She is not well loaded, or the powder is bad."
As these words were uttered the cry came from the target, "number nine."
Owen, too, noticed that his rifle had not its usual, clear ring. Seeing
that he had shot so far from the mark, he knew that something was wrong.
For months he had practiced at objects at the same distance as the
target before him. Never had his aim been so untrue. The cause of his
failure flashed upon his mind in an instant. Bertha had put a new
red-strap in his old powder horn. This was the first time he had used it
since the night when he and Martin were caught in a heavy rain while
returning from a hunt. The powder, he remembered, was then damaged. What
was to be done? As Coon-Hollow Jim stepped forward for his second shot,
Owen asked him for a few charges of powder. This was readily granted,
and to the great surprise of all, the boy sent the next two balls to the
center of the target.
Goliath "drove all three home." When the last shot had been fired the
crowd rushed around him, raised him from the ground, and carried him to
the platform in triumph.
A marksman in those days was held in high repute, and the champion at a
shooting match was as jealous of his prowess as the crowned victor of
the Olympic games. No honor was considered too great for him. We know
from an episode in the life of Henry Clay, that, when candidate for the
State Assembly, he once carried a whole district by a chance shot with a
rifle.
Coon-Hollow Jim was now to receive the honors he had so well deserved.
Seated on the platform with his long rifle in his hand, and the large
eagle-feather dallying above his head, he listened to the eulogy
pronounced upon himself, and the other heroes of America. For in the
opinion of the speaker, Squire Grundy, the marksman at his side was as
great a hero as was Jefferson or Washington. The Squire was certainly a
professional "stump speaker." Bombastic and incongruous words were
strangely intermingled in his half finished sentences. Still he was
never at a loss for a word. He spoke right on, whether there was sense
in what he said or not. He needed no artful introduction to gain the
attention of his hearers. So beginning with the discovery of America, he
traced the progress of the country during Colonial days; dwelt at length
upon the Revolutionary War, the battles of Lexington, Saratoga and
Yorktown. Coming closer to his own day, he eulogized the great Admirals
Hull and Perry, and added by way of parenthesis that he himself, Squire
Grundy, had known the hero of Erie's battle. History unfortunately has
preserved but a single fragment of his speech, though just where it was
introduced the writer was unable to ascertain. "I am," said he, "a
follower of the immortal Jefferson, the framer of our Constitution, and
the pioneer of the human race." He concluded with a prayer for America's
progress, and with much ceremony bestowed the prize, a silver mounted
pistol, upon the champion marksman of Kentucky.
An intermission of thirty minutes was allowed the marksmen, while
preparations were made for the second part of the program. In this each
had twenty chances at robins, flying from a box at a distance of thirty
yards. The "wing-shot," it is needless to say, was more difficult than
target-shooting, and some who had acquitted themselves creditably during
the first contest, withdrew their names.
Scattered in knots over the field, many were talking in a mysterious
way. Some hinted that every one would be surprised except themselves.
Others claimed that three of the marksmen who had held back during the
target shooting, would bring down every robin which flew from the box.
It was also rumored that two men, who had just registered their names,
were marvels in the rifle-craft, that they had won prizes at every
shooting-match in the United States; that one, who had large, owl-like
eyes, could kill a swallow further than most men could see it. Jolly
Jerry, too, was there, exchanging jokes with his old friends and making
arrangements for the winter dances; he had not entered the lists thus
far, but had reserved his prowess for a more signal battle.
Martin Cooper had not lost hope. Owen, he was convinced, had but one
equal in the State, and had it not been for an unforeseen accident, he
would have divided honors with Coon-Hollow Jim. In shooting on the wing
he thought that his young friend was superior to any one on the grounds.
"Bad luck, Owen," said Martin, as the two met after the conferring of
the first prize.
"All Bertha's fault," said Owen. "I had my new powder horn ready, and
was about to start, when she came running out with this old one. Since
she had gone to the trouble of weaving a new string, and of putting
these yellow tassels at each end, I changed to please her. The powder in
the old horn was damp, and this spoiled all that I put in."
"Too bad! wasn't it?" replied Martin. "But you have another chance yet,
and I am sure you are going to show the crowd what you can do."
"Well, the powder is dry. I am certain of that. Mr. Lane, or Coon-Hollow
Jim, as we call him, gave me half of his. He says it's the best made."
"So his real name is Mr. Lane," answered Martin, with some surprise.
"Isn't he a good and kind fellow? He made everybody laugh when he
carried you to the place for shooting."
"When I offered to pay him for the powder," continued Owen, "he tapped
me on the head saying 'that's all right, my little man, I hope you take
the next prize, but I am going to do all I can to get it myself.'"
"If you do win," said Martin, "it will be the whole story of David and
Goliath, for you will use Coon-Hollow Jim's powder to beat him with,
just as David used the sword of the giant to cut off his head."
"I shall do my best, Mart!" said Owen, "but, see, the men are getting
ready. It's time for the second part."
"Now for work! Show them what you can do!"