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Updated: June 25, 2025
The old people lived on a farm adjoining the one where this criminal, who was then a hired man, worked, It was the talk of the neighborhood that they had money. This human fiend undertook to secure their "loose change," as he called it. He procured a shotgun and an axe, and, in the dead hour of night, went to the house of the old people. He forced open the kitchen door and went in.
For the fraction of a minute he halted, "broke" his gun, dropped the shells into place, snapped the gun back and threw it to his shoulder, but in the brief interval that had elapsed the bear and Jimmy had so far gained upon him that the distance between him and the bear loomed up before him now as almost hopelessly long. If he only had a rifle, instead of his shotgun!
And here I've been unable to get rid of one." "You didn't begin early enough," comes back Veronica. "Do you know, Mrs. McCabe, when I was nineteen Daddy used to be so afraid I would be stolen away from him that he would almost lie in wait for young men with a shotgun.
Through all his struggle in the marsh, Charley had unconsciously clung to Toby's shotgun. He fired one barrel, and then the other. An answering shot rang out above the roar of the wind, and not so far away now. He ran in the direction from which it came. Then came another shot, now quite near, and a moment later he saw Toby hurrying toward him. Charley's heart leaped with joy and relief.
For the old man, tottering in the opening of the rear door, was muttering in a wicked sort of glee: "Up with them hands of your'n, Swen Brodie. High up an' right quick, or I'll blow your ugly head off'n your shoulders!" In his trembling hands was a double-barrelled shotgun, sawed off and doubtless loaded to the muzzle with buckshot.
Bobby spread out the broad brown fan of a tail; he inserted his finger under the glossy ruffs; he stroked the smooth, brown, mottled back. "This is more fun than squirrels," said he with conviction. Mr. Kincaid glanced at him in surprise. "But you can't hunt these fellows," said he, "It takes a shotgun to get 'pats. You wouldn't have much fun at this game."
The bully looked the slim newcomer over again, and as he looked there rang inside him some tocsin of warning. Thursday sat crouched in the saddle, wary as a rattlesnake ready to strike. A sawed-off shotgun lay under his leg within reach of his hand, the butt of a six-gun was even closer to those smooth, girlish fingers.
"I can fetch a lantern, if you want me to, Hugh," he observed; "and say, do you know I'm of a mind to carry my new shotgun that I had given to me just last month, when Grandfather concluded I was old enough to want to go hunting. If we have to chase all around through that place there's so many queer stories told about we might as well be fixed so as to protect ourselves."
The tramp had taken it for granted that Snap and Shep had started for the camp on Firefly Lake and would make no further effort to bring him to justice. "What nerve!" whispered Shep. "What shall we do?" "Let's capture him. I'll go outside, and you can remain in here." So speaking, Snap caught up his shotgun, which stood near the kitchen door, and slipped out of the entrance to the woodshed.
"Knock out the other lantern, pop," put in Dan Baxter, and the parent turned in the second barrel of the shotgun with equal success. For an instant the deck of the Searchlight seemed to be in darkness. Sam felt a bit of hot glass strike him on the cheek and raised his hand to brush it off. Then he felt something warm on the back of his leg.
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