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Updated: June 25, 2025
He's playing tag. The boy tripped him and laughed at him, and Ike Anderson got out his knife." He cast a red eye about him. "No, it isn't," he thought. "It's Ike Anderson, with the people chasing him. And the shotgun. Ike's growing up faster, growing right along. They all want him, but they don't get him. One, two, three, five, nine, eight, seven I could count them all once. Ike Anderson.
R.C. tried with shotgun and I with rifle, all to no avail. These ducks were shy. Romer seemed to evince some disdain at our failure, but he did not voice his feelings. We found some wild-turkey tracks, and a few feathers, which put our hopes high. Crossing the open ground we again entered the forest, which gradually grew thicker as we got down to a lower altitude.
He was behaving exactly like Aunt Millie when she had St. Vitus' dance. He began tending me gently like a woman. He built a fire and made some coffee over it he had brought coffee and some lunch. I crouched white and still, saying not a word. Landon squatted with his back turned, watching the coffee. His shotgun, leaning against the tree-trunk, caught my eye. I crept toward that shotgun.
It was a moment of extreme peril, and for the instant Snap's heart seemed to stop beating. Then little Giant turned swiftly and pulled the trigger of his shotgun and sent the load into the wolf's ear. There was one short yelp, a leap of agony, and the wolf landed in the fire, dead, scattering the burning embers in all directions. "Good for you, Giant!" cried Snap, when he could speak.
My rifle covers your heart exactly and you are not more than ten feet away. I shall have no possible need of the shotgun. Keep your hands away from your belt. You're in a dangerous position, Mr. Haskell." "I believe you're an infernal rebel." "Take out the objectionable adjective 'infernal' and you're right. Keep those hands still, I tell you." "What do you want?" "Your dispatches!
Tommy was reporting the result of these efforts from above. The General, his feet firmly planted, had unlimbered a huge ten-bore shotgun, so as to be ready for anything. Uncle Jim stood by, smoking his pipe. Mithradates Antikamia Briggs sat sadly apart. The poking efforts accomplished little. Occasionally the 'coon made a little dash or scramble, but never went far.
Coming from Sunday-school on Sunday afternoon the boys fell in with Jed Sanborn, the old hunter who had gone out with them on more than one trip. They were rather surprised to see the man carrying his shotgun, for Jed usually believed in respecting the Sabbath day. "Been out hunting?" queried Snap as all came to a halt. "Well, yes, kind of," answered the old hunter. "But not any reg'lar game."
"If I had that shotgun in my hands, I'd just like to see anybody, or anything, sneak in on us, and steal as much as an egg." "I guess you would be a pretty dangerous customer, with a loaded gun in your hands, the way you feel right now," remarked Max, seriously. "Come, you mustn't think so much about it, Bandy-legs. Leave it to us, and we'll try and fix it all right."
When the story went around the water-front of how French Frank had tried to run me down with his schooner, and of how I had stood on the deck of the Razzle Dazzle, a cocked double-barrelled shotgun in my hands, steering with my feet and holding her to her course, and compelled him to put up his wheel and keep away, the water-front decided that there was something in me despite my youth.
It was no easy matter to climb around or over the rocks which lay between the boys and the old mill, and the darkness under the thick trees was intense. They felt their way along slowly, and Tom was careful to carry the shotgun with the barrel pointed downward, that there might be no accident. "More than likely those fellows have been putting up at the old mill," said Dick.
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