THE SHOOTING MATCH.
The steamboat landing toward which Godfrey Evans bent his way, was
looked upon as a very important place by the settlers in that part of
the state. The little collection of houses that had sprung up there
contained a post-office, a few dwellings, and the only grocery and
drug store to be found within a circle of twenty miles. The mail was
brought there twice each week by a mounted carrier, who made regular
trips between the landing and the county seat, which lay fifteen miles
from the river. No particular packet stopped there, but there was
considerable business done by the neighboring planters with the city
of Memphis, in the way of plantation supplies and farming implements,
and some steamboat called at the landing every week. Its arrival
was regarded as an event of great consequence. Whenever five long
whistles announced that a steamer was approaching, all the negroes
and unemployed whites within hearing of the sound would hasten to the
landing to see her come in, and watch the unloading of the cargo she
brought. The sight was not a new or novel one to them, but the life
they led there was so monotonous that any event, however trivial, that
furnished them fresh topics for an hour’s conversation, was gladly
welcomed. Godfrey Evans never missed a boat rain or shine. He was there
nearly every day, and if he chanced to be absent some of the hangers-on
always noticed it, and wondered what could be the matter.
Toward the landing Godfrey hastened after parting from his son, and
entering the street which ran from the river back into the country,
found himself in front of the grocery, and in the midst of a group of
men who were congregated there. They all carried rifles in their hands,
and the sharp, whip-like reports which now and then came from a little
grove situated a few rods up the river bank, told that the shooting
match was in progress.
Godfrey entered the store and drawing up before the counter, rapped on
it with his knuckles to attract the attention of the proprietor, who
was busy in the little room that opened off the rear. The rap quickly
brought him out, but when he saw who his customer was, he stopped and
asked:--
“What’s the matter, Godfrey?”
“I’ll take a plug of that amazin’ fine ole Virginy of your’n, if ye
please, sir,” said Godfrey, leaning his rifle against the counter and
thrusting his hand into his pocket.
The grocery keeper whistled softly to himself, but made no move to
produce the required article. He wanted first to see what would be the
result of his customer’s investigations. Godfrey continued to search
his pockets--every one of them had a hole in it that he could have run
his hand through--and his movements grew quicker, as his impatience to
find something in them increased, and then slower, as the fact appeared
to dawn upon him that there was nothing there.
“You don’t seem to pull out anything, Godfrey,” said the merchant.
“No, it’s a fact, I don’t seem to,” replied the customer. “I’ve left my
pocket-book to hum, arter all. Say, Silas,” he added, sinking his voice
almost to a whisper, and glancing hastily toward the crowd of men at
the door, “ye wouldn’t mind trustin’ me till next week, I reckon, would
ye?”
“Yes, I would,” was the blunt reply.
“Only till next week, I say,” repeated Godfrey. “I’ll have more money
then nor a mule can haul away, an’ I’ll pay ye every red cent I owe ye!”
“Well, _then_ I’ll sell you everything you want,” said the merchant.
“An’ won’t ye let me have nothin’ now?”
“No, I can’t. And, Godfrey, you’d be better off if you would save your
half dollars and buy yourself a pair of shoes. It will not be long,
now, before the cold winter rains will set in, and there’ll be frost
and snow----”
“I know,” interrupted Godfrey. “But I can kill a heap of deer atween
this time and that, an’ deer meat is goin’ to be wuth something
han’some this year, kase game is so skase. Come on now, Silas!”
But Silas went off to the other side of the store to attend to the
wants of another customer, and Godfrey, finding that no further notice
was taken of his presence, picked up his rifle, went out of the door,
and turned his face up the road again in the direction from which Dan
was expected to appear.
“I’ll never do no more tradin’ with Silas,” said Godfrey to himself.
“I’ll send to Memphis fur my things, the way the rest of the gentlemen
do; an’ I shall be as fine a gentleman as the best of ’em when I find
that bar’l, won’t I? Halloa, Dannie! whar’s that dollar? I reckon ye’ve
got it.”
Dan was coming along the road with his head down, and his eyes fastened
on the five-dollar bill, which he still held in his hand. Had his
father remained silent, he could have walked up close to him before
Dan would have known that there was any one near, so fully was his
attention taken up with the greenback. Surprised and startled by the
abrupt address, he hastily crumpled up the money and thrust it into his
pocket.
“What’s that yer shovin’ out of sight so quick thar?” demanded Godfrey.
“I haint a shovin’ nothin’ out of sight,” answered Dan. “Can’t a feller
put his gold toothpick into his pocket if he wants to?”
“Whar’s the dollar?” inquired his father.
“I hain’t got to the landin’ yet, have I?” asked Dan, in reply. “I told
ye that when I got to the _landin’_ I’d have it fur ye.”
His father looked at him suspiciously. “Whar are ye goin’ to git it
down here, an’ who’s goin’ to give it to ye?” he asked.
“Didn’t ye tell me that it don’t make no sort of odds to ye whar I
git it, or who gives it to me, so long as I git it?” demanded Dan,
impatiently. “Now, ye go down to the grove an’ stay thar, an’ when I
come to ye, I’ll give ye the dollar.”
Godfrey was satisfied with this assurance--at least he appeared to be.
He walked along with Dan until they came to the turn in the road, and
then he went toward the grove where the shooting was going on, while
Dan turned toward the post-office. The latter watched his father until
he saw him join one of the little groups of men who were congregated
under the trees, and then faced about and entered the store.
There were several customers in there, and Dan was obliged to await
his turn. It came at last, and then he handed out his five-dollar
bill, with the request that it might be changed into notes of smaller
denomination. The grocer rapidly complied, and as Dan gathered up
his money and turned to go out, he was astonished to find his father
standing at his elbow. Being barefooted, Godfrey had entered the store
and placed himself close by his son’s side without being observed. His
face wore a look of amazement that was curious to behold. He did not
know how much money Dan had in his possession, but he judged by the
size of the roll he held in his hands, that it must be a large amount.
He marvelled greatly as he followed the boy out of the store.
“Thar’s yer dollar, pop,” said Dan, who, finding that his secret was
discovered, thought it best to put a bold face on the matter. “I told
ye I’d be sartin to get it fur ye. Ye mustn’t forget to pay it back, or
to get me them nice things ye promised when we find that bar’l.”
“No, I won’t,” said Godfrey, smiling joyously as he felt the bill
between his fingers. “I’m goin’ to be a good pop to ye, Dannie, an’ now
I’ll tell ye what I’ve been a thinkin’ of doin’ fur ye: yer gettin’ to
be an amazin’ fine, strappin’ big boy, Dannie. Yer a’most as high up
in the world as yer pop, an’ purty soon ye’ll be gettin’ to be a young
man. Then ye’ll want store clothes an’ all sorts of nice things, and
mebbe me an’ yer poor ole mam’ll lose yer, kase ye’ll be lookin’ around
fur a wife.”
Dan grinned and thought of the little tow-headed girl he had so often
been on the point of seeing safe home from church. The reason he didn’t
do it was because when the critical time came, he could never muster up
courage enough to speak to her.
“Yes, ye will,” continued his father; “an’ then ye’ll find that thar
hain’t nothin’ in the world that takes with the gals, an’ the men folks
too, like good clothes an’ shiny boots an’ hats. But it takes money to
get them things. Now, I hain’t a goin’ to be the mean ole hulks to ye
that my pop was to me. He left me with empty hands, to make a livin’ as
best I could, but I’m goin’ to be a good pop to ye, an’ give ye a fine
start. I’m goin’ to give ye half that bar’l when I find it.”
“How much’ll that be?” asked Dan.
“O, it’ll be a heap, I tell yer,” replied Godfrey, growing animated and
hoping thus to work upon Dan’s feelings sufficiently to accomplish the
object he had in view; “as much as--as--twenty thousand anyhow, an’
mebbe sixty,” added Godfrey, who was not very quick at figures. “An’
then, Dannie, if yer a monstrous good boy, an’ allers do jest as I tell
ye, mebbe I’ll buy out Gen’ral Gordon an’ give ye his place. Then ye
can have circus hosses, as many as ye want, an’ some of them amazin’
fine guns what break in two in the middle, an’ a sail-boat on the lake,
an’ all the other nice things sich as Bert and Don has got.”
Dan grinned again and fairly trembled with excitement. The prospect of
owning all these aids to happiness was enough to excite anybody.
“Now, Dannie, I won’t forget all this if ye will promise to be a good
boy an’ do jest what I tell yer,” said his father. “Will ye?”
“I will, pop,” replied the boy, shaking hands with his sire, to show
that he was in earnest. “Ye jest see if I don’t.”
“I’m powerful glad to hear ye say so, Dannie,” continued Godfrey; and
now he came to the point at which he had all the while been aiming, but
he broached it with no little hesitation, and anxiety as to the result.
“Now, Dannie,” said he, “don’t ye think that to pay me fur all these
things I’m a goin’ to do fur ye, that ye’d oughter give me the rest of
the money ye’ve got in yer pocket?”
“No, I don’t,” said Dan, promptly.
“What fur?”
“Kase I want it myself. I’m agoin’ into the shootin’ match too.”
“An’ shoot agin yer poor old pop, what’s fit the Yanks, an’ worked so
hard fur ye? Dan, I’m extonished at yer! Now, Dannie, I wouldn’t go in,
if I was ye, kase ye can’t win nothin’, an’ ’sides ye want to save yer
money, don’t ye? That’s the way to get rich, Dannie. Let yer pop do the
shootin’, an’ we’ll have a quarter of beef to carry home to-night, I
warrant ye.”
But Dan would make no promises, and neither could his father’s most
earnest entreaties induce him to surrender even the smallest portion
of the money he had in his pocket. What he had in his possession he
was sure of--the barrel, with its eighty thousand dollars, he was not
sure of; and believing that a single bird in the hand was worth a whole
flock in the woods, he declared it to be his unalterable determination
to hold fast to every cent he had. Godfrey was highly exasperated, but
he took good care not to show it. Their near approach to the grove and
to the men assembled there, obliged him to cease his entreaties, and
with the mental resolve that Dan should be made to repent his refusal,
Godfrey went to hunt up the man who had charge of the shooting. To
his great delight he learned that there were so many contestants that
the entrance fee was only seventy-five cents. This left him a quarter
of a dollar to spend, and he made all haste to do it. Forgetting the
resolution he had formed a short time before, to spend no more money
with Silas Jones, he hurried off to the store, and returned with a plug
of the tobacco for which the merchant had refused to credit him. When
he came back, he saw Dan stretched out on the ground behind a small log
squinting along the barrel of his rifle, which was pointed at a piece
of white paper fastened to a board, and placed against a tree a few
yards away.
“The ongrateful scamp!” said his father, to himself. “He’s gone an’
spent six bits to go into the shootin’ match arter all. He ain’t fit to
have money, he throws it about so scandalous. I’ll take keer that he
don’t throw away no more.”
For the benefit of our city readers, who may like to know something of
the sports and pastimes of those whose means of recreation are not so
abundant as their own, we will tell how a shooting match is conducted
in the South and West. In the first place, we are glad to say that it
is very different from turkey shooting as carried on in the Northern
States. In the latter there is no sport whatever. The luckless turkey
is tied to a stump, so that it has no chance for life, and the marksmen
station themselves at distances varying from one to two hundred and
fifty yards, and shoot at it, until some one kills or wounds it. It is
a cruel practice, and no boy or man either who has the least spark of
humanity or love of fair play in him, will engage in it.
[Illustration: THE SHOOTING-MATCH.]
In the shooting matches of which we speak, the contestants do not
shoot at the game, but at a mark. Each one provides himself with a
piece of board, which is held over a fire until one side of it is
thoroughly blackened. Upon this blackened surface a cross, like the
sign +, is made with the point of a knife. The place where these two
lines intersect is called the centre; and as it is no larger than the
point of a pin, you can easily imagine how much skill is required to
make a “dead-centre” shot. On this centre, to show where it is, is
placed a piece of white paper--it may be half an inch or three or six
inches square, as the shooter prefers--which is held in its place by a
tack or wooden pin. The contestants then station themselves forty or
sixty yards away, according as they want to shoot off-hand or with a
rest, and the sport begins. The one who makes the best shot takes the
first choice of the prizes, whatever they may be; the one who makes the
second best, takes the second choice; and so on until all the prizes
are gone.
These prizes may be turkeys, chickens or pigs; but beef is shot for
more than anything else. Whatever the article is, it is furnished by
some one of the contestants who sets a price upon it, and collects of
each one who participates in the shooting an equal part of the amount.
Thus, if a beef worth twenty dollars is shot for and there are twenty
contestants, each one pays the owner a dollar. In this case there are
six prizes--the two hind-quarters, the two fore-quarters, the hide
and tallow, and the lead that is shot into the tree against which the
boards are placed. The last prize is of no small value sometimes,
especially to men who live four or five miles from a store. If there
are twenty contestants and each one shoots a dozen times, the chunk of
lead which will be cut out of the tree by the one who wins it, will
furnish bullets enough to last him a year. As soon as the shooting is
over the beef is killed, and each one takes whatever he may have been
skilful enough to win.
This was the kind of a match that Dan and his father attended; and the
result of it was not a little surprising to the latter. If it had not
been for Dan’s good shooting, the two would have been obliged to return
home empty-handed. Godfrey’s great skill with the rifle, of which he
so often boasted, was not made apparent on this particular day. He got
nothing, but Dan won a prize. He made four centres, but three of them
had to be placed against the same number of centres made by other
marksmen. When that had been done the boy had still one centre left,
and that entitled him to the first choice. Dan was highly elated, and
his father was correspondingly enraged.
“The ungrateful rascal,” said Godfrey to himself, “to come here an’
shoot agin’ his poor ole pop what’s done so much fur him, an’ make
me take a back seat! I eddicated that boy myself. I larnt him how to
handle a rifle, and now I wish I hadn’t done it, kase this is the kind
of pay I get fur it. I’ll take mighty good keer that he don’t get no
more seventy-five cents to spend at shootin’ matches. It beats all
natur’ whar he got that wad of money, an’ if I had another dollar I’d
give it to know!”
But Godfrey said nothing. He knew that if he spoke as he felt, it
would put Dan on his guard, and that might lead to the derangement of
certain plans he had formed. So he laughed at the witty things that
were said to him about being beaten by his own son, and when some one
complimented Dan on the skill he had exhibited, his father said it
might have been expected, for the boy was simply a chip of the old
block.
“I’m monstrous proud of ye, Dannie,” said Godfrey, as the two wended
their way toward home after the shooting was over; “monstrous proud.
It done me good to see them ole fellers look wild when ye made them
centres so handy, one arter t’other. I’m a trifle sorry that ye spent
yer money so scandalous foolish, but it can’t be helped now. ’Tain’t
the way to get rich, Dannie, that ar way aint, an’ I hope ye won’t do
it no more.”
This was the way Godfrey talked; but had he acted out his feelings, he
would have fallen upon Dan with the cowhide the moment they reached the
cabin.
The three miles that lay between the landing and the Evans plantation
being accomplished, Godfrey, with the air of a man who had done a day’s
work with which he was perfectly satisfied, seated himself on a bench
beside the door, preparatory to indulging in a pipeful of the store
tobacco which had come into his possession so unexpectedly; while Dan
proceeded to the corn-crib behind the house, and harnessed an old and
very infirm mule to a rickety wagon, intending to return to the landing
and bring home the quarter of beef that had fallen to his lot. He went
about his task in that peculiar and indescribable way a boy has of
doing things when he has something in view besides the work in hand.
His movements were stealthy, and he cast frequent and furtive glances
around him, as if he were afraid of being caught in some act that would
bring him certain and speedy punishment.
Once or twice he moved quickly to the cabin and looked around the
corner, to make sure that his father was still seated where he had
left him. He always found him there. He never seemed to have changed
his position. He sat with his legs stretched out before him, his hands
thrust deep into his pockets, his head bowed, his eyes closed and
his beloved pipe tightly clenched between his teeth. He was asleep;
and Dan, having made sure of this, quickly returned to the corn-crib
and halted under a shed which was built on one side of it. This shed
was used to shelter the wagon, the few farming implements Godfrey
possessed, and also the harness, which, when not in use, was kept hung
up on a wooden pin driven into one of the logs of which the corn-crib
was built. Dan came to a stop under this pin, and after looking all
around again to make sure that there was no one watching him, he seized
it with both hands, and after working it backward and forward a few
times, finally pulled it out.
Looking into the hole, as if to satisfy himself that something he had
previously placed there was safe, Dan drew a roll of bills out of his
pocket, and, after running his eye over them to make sure that they
were all there, thrust them into the hole, and with one quick blow with
his hand drove the pin back to its place. This done, he jumped into the
wagon, picked up the knotted lines, and as he drove around the corner
of the cabin, took care to notice his father’s position. Godfrey was
still asleep--there could be no doubt about that. His pipe was twisted
about in his mouth, until the bowl pointed downward, his head was
thrown over on one side, and as Dan looked at him, he told himself that
he was disposed of for two long hours, at least. Yet so suspicious was
he, that he did not neglect to turn and look at him every now and then
as long as he remained in sight of the cabin.
“He’s thar yet, an’ I reckon I’ve fixed things all right,” thought
Dan, with a chuckle denoting intense satisfaction. “He’s been kinder
snoopin’ around ever since he found out I had that money, an’ I was
afeared that mebbe he’d smell out somethin’. He thinks I don’t know it,
but I’ve seed him more’n once sarchin’ my pockets arter I went to bed,
an’ he thought I was asleep. He was a lookin’ fur gun caps, an’ things
he couldn’t buy hisself. I reckon he hain’t made much outen me since I
found that hidin’ place fur my money an’ sich plunder. ’Tain’t safe to
trust pop no further nor a feller can see him.”
With these sage reflections, Dan drove on toward the landing.