XXVI
THE SIXTEEN GAUGE SHOTGUN
Bobby and his friend, Johnny English, sat on the floor of Bobby'schamber reviewing the exciting events of the afternoon. In the tumultfollowing the sheriff's announcement, Bobby was temporarily forgotten.He had slipped back into the crowd, and from that point had followedclosely all that had ensued. Laughton's confession merely filled in thedetails of Bobby's surmises. It seems that Pritchard had had a violentquarrel with his man, ending by knocking him down and stalking offacross the fields. Mad with rage, Laughton had picked himself up andfollowed without even pausing long enough to get a hat. He had losttrack of his victim in the popple thicket, but had come across Kincaid'scap, which he had appropriated. A shot from Pritchard's little rifleapprised him of his enemy's whereabouts. The murder committed, he hadmounted a stump to spy upon the country. He had seen Kincaid and hisdog, and was just about to withdraw, when the cap was knocked from hishead by a bullet which at the same time broke the skin on his scalp.Thinking himself discovered, he had run. Later reconnoitring carefully,he had seen two apparently unexcited small boys climbing into a ponycart a half-mile away and had come to the conclusion that the bullet hadbeen spent, and a chance shot. The idea of incriminating Mr. Kincaid hadnot come to him until later.
Mr. Kincaid had at once been released. Under cover of thecongratulations, the boys made their escape.
"I don't see how you ever figured it out!" cried Johnny for the twelfthtime.
"I knew it must have hit his head unless it just grazed his cap," saidBobby, "and when I saw that scar----"
"Gee, it was great!" gloated Johnny, "just like a book! It'll be in allthe papers to-morrow. You saved Mr. Kincaid's life, didn't you?"
"I suppose I did," said Bobby complacently.
At this moment the open hot-air register began to speak, carrying up thevoices from the rooms below. As the subject under discussion was theclosest to the boys' hearts for the moment, they drew near to listen.
"It's Mr. Kincaid himself!" breathed Bobby.
"I've been trying to catch you all the way up the street," Mr. Kincaidwas saying, "but you walk like a steam engine."
"I felt good," explained Mr. Orde. "I knew you were innocent, of course;but it looked dark."
"Yes, it looked dark," admitted Mr. Kincaid. "Where's that youngster ofyours? He saved the day."
"I was just going to look for him. There're a few points I'd like toclear up. If he saw all that, why didn't he say something before?"
"Don't know. But he certainly spoke to the point when he did get going.Look here, Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me dosomething; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want youto let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun--16 gauge--eversee one?"
"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde.
"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He'slearned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don'tbelieve in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't makeany breaks."
Johnny reached over to clasp Bobby excitedly.
"Now we can get partridges!" he squealed under his breath.
But Bobby was unexpectedly cold to this enthusiasm. He reached over toclose the register. At once the voices were shut off. Then for some timehe sat cross-legged staring straight in front of him. To Johnny'sremarks he replied irritably until that youngster flounced himself intoa corner with a book, ostentatiously indifferent.
Bobby was seeing things. As was his habit, he was visualizing a scenethat had passed, recalling each little detail of what had at the timeapparently passed lightly over his consciousness.
He saw again plainly the yellow sand-hills under his feet, and thevillage lying below, its roofs half hidden in the lilac and mauve ofbared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frostyair. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat,the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, thekindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard againMr. Kincaid's deep slow voice:
"Sonny, you can always be a sportsman--a sportsman does things becausehe likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to becomefamous, nor even to win--and a right man does not get pleasure in doinga thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage--if _you_--not thethinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-yourheart _you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ issatisfied, it's all right."
Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs.
XXVII
THE SPORTSMAN
He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant ofthe room saw him before he spoke.
"I heard what you said--through the register----" he explained. "But Ican't take the shotgun."
Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first naturalexclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnestlittle figure facing them.
"Why not, Bobby?" asked Mr. Orde at last.
"I was the one who fired that shot that hit Mr. Laughton's head. I didit a-purpose."
"What for?"
"I saw something brown in the brush, and I was sure it was a partridge,so I shot at it. I really didn't know it was a partridge. It just lookedbrown. You told me not to do that, lots of times, but I got all excited,and forgot. So you see I'm not careful, like you said. I ought not tohave any shotgun."
"Oh, Bobby!" said Mr. Kincaid. "And that's one of the most importantthings of all!"
"I know, sir," said Bobby. "That's why I thought I'd tell you."
The two men examined the youngster for some time in silence. A verytender look lurked back in their eyes.
"What did you do then?" asked Mr. Orde at last.
"I saw the cap fly up in the air, and ran."
"Yes?"
"And then after a little I saw Mr. Kincaid come out down below, and Ithought it was all right until I got home."
"Why did you jump up in court this afternoon?"
"I knew where I was standing, and I saw a scar on Laughton's head, andthen I knew if the holes in the cap were low down, he must have been theman."
"Why didn't you tell all this before?"
"I'd never seen the cap; and I thought Mr. Kincaid had done it. I wasn'tgoing to give him away."
Both men burst into laughter.
"And you thought I'd kill a man!" reproached Mr. Kincaid at last.
"I'd have done it--to old Pritchard," maintained Bobby stoutly.
After a time Mr. Kincaid returned to the first subject.
"There is no doubt, Bobby," said he, "that a man careless enough toshoot at anything without knowing what it is--especially in a settledcountry--is not fit to have a gun of any kind. There are plenty ofpeople killed every year through just such carelessness. On that groundyou are quite right in saying that you do not deserve the new shotgun."
"Yes, sir," said Bobby.
"But you will never do anything like that again. You have learned yourlesson. And you told the truth. That is a great thing. It is easy tocover up a mistake; but very hard to show it when you don't have to. Iwas a little disappointed that you forgot about shooting at things; butI am more than proud that you remembered to be a sportsman. With yourfather's permission, I'm going to get you that shotgun, just the same.We'll go down together in the morning to get it."
At the end of ten minutes more, Bobby returned to his room. He lookedabout it as one looks on a half-remembered spot visited long ago. Theplace seemed smaller; the toys trivial. A deep gulf had been passedsince he had left the room a half-hour before. To his eyes had opened anew vision. Little Boyhood had fallen away from him as a garment. Atouch had loosed. All experience and observation had led the way; but itwas only in expectation of the supreme test of self-sacrifice. Characterchanges radically only under that test. Bobby had borne it well; and nowstood at the threshold of his Youth.
He picked up the Flobert rifle and looked it over.
"It'll alw
ays be handy to fool with," said he to Johnny.
That youngster looked up with sardonic humour.
"Gee, you're gettin' swelled head with your new gun," said he.
THE END
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