“Of course. But not here. There’s not much to shoot at. If we go up to the field, I can set up some targets.”
“All right.”
“Want to take the path or cut through the wood?”
“We’ll go through the wood. My foot,” she said pointedly, “is just fine.” To prove it, she brushed past him and led the way. Her skirt occasionally caught on the underbrush, but she gamely tugged at it and kept on going, aware that she made far more noise during the trek than Cody did. When they arrived in the clearing, she looked at his costume with something akin to envy. “I should like to wear something like that,” she told him, raising the hem of her skirt and brushing off the leaves that clung to it damply.
“Always suspected you weren’t a girl in the usual way.”
Shannon looked at him archly. “What, pray, is that supposed to mean?” When Cody’s swarthy complexion reddened, Shannon took pity on him. “It’s all right. I think I know what you meant.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, laughing when the tips of his ears pinkened. “Just to show you that no offense was taken. Now, what is it that we’re going to shoot?”
Relieved, Cody took Shannon’s hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
Half running to match Cody’s long stride, Shannon allowed herself to be led past the paddock and stable and empty curing sheds. “Oh, no,” said Shannon when Cody finally stopped. “Not Martha’s pumpkins.” She glanced back at the house guiltily. “She’d never forgive us.”
“That’s supposing we hit any. I only intend to separate the stem from the vine.”
“Braggart.”
He shrugged, grinning boyishly. “Well?” He held out his rifle to her.
Shannon spared another glance at the house and then looked at the ripening pumpkins. The patch was not large, serving only the Folly’s needs, but it was all that remained of Martha’s carefully tended garden. In a flight of fancy she thought the pumpkins seemed to be cowering beneath their green, leafy vines. “All right,” she said. “I doubt there is much chance I’ll manage to shoot one.”
“Don’t worry. Bran and I have been doing this for years. Martha always has more squash planted than she needs.” He gave the rifle a little shake to draw Shannon’s attention. “Here. It’s tradition.”
Shannon took the rifle.“Oh, it’s not as heavy as I thought.”
Cody sat on the ground and patted the space next to him. “Less than ten pounds,” he told her as she sat beside him. “It’s a variation on a Bavarian rifle; longer and lighter barrel, and it takes less powder and lead. Only problem is that it takes some time to load. That’s not so bad when the pumpkins aren’t moving, but when they take to flight, you have to make your shot count. By the time you reload, they could have flown the nest.”
“Idiot,” she said, smiling.
“But you take my point.”
“I take your point. How do I load it?”
Cody slipped off his ammunition pouch and opened it up. “First you have to measure a charge of powder and pour it in the barrel. Here, use this horn.”
Shannon peered down the barrel. “Why, it has little grooves in it.” She took the horn and began pouring the powder.
“They’re for—whoa! Not so much! You’ll blow us both back to the river.” He quickly took back the powder horn and put it away. “The grooves put a spin on the ball and give it a truer path over a long range. Much better than a smoothbore rifle. Now open the patch box.” He pointed to the hinged brass plate on the rifle’s maple stock. “That’s it. Take out one of the cloth patches and lick it. Very good. Lay it over the muzzle. That’s the front end of the barrel,” he explained when she looked at him in bewilderment. “Take this.” He handed her a bullet. “Put it on top of the cloth. All right. Now you’re ready to ram it down the barrel.” He disconnected a metal rod from the rifle. “Use this. Go on, give it a shove, right down on the powder.”
“The pumpkins are getting restless,” she said, her eyes dancing.
“Don’t let them unnerve you. You’re almost ready.” He put the ramrod aside when she finished. “Good girl. Lower the rifle, and please keep it aimed away from me.”
“Sorry.”
“No harm done. You still have to prime the pan and set the steel.”
Shannon groaned, but she accepted the powder horn again and poured a small amount in the priming pan, then, with Cody directing her, set the steel so the flint in the hammer would strike it when the trigger was pulled, creating a spark to set off the powder.
“Now it’s merely a matter of raising your gun into position,” he explained.
“That sounds too simple.”
“After practice it will come easily. Raise your knees and rest your elbows on them. That will help support the weight of the rifle as you take aim. No, you have to place your knees apart.”
“Breeches are much more practical,” she noted, setting the rifle to one side as she rearranged her skirt to accommodate her new positon. She took up the rifle again and pointed it in the direction of the patch.
