“See,” I said, “I will put my ball within a finger’s-breadth of his.”  Sure enough, when they looked, the two bullets were all but in the same hole.

His second shot took the hat low down on its right side, and clipped away a bit of the brim.  I saw by this time that the man could shoot, though he had a poor weapon and understood little about it.  So I told the company that I would trim the hat by slicing a bit from the other side.  This I achieved, though by little, for my shot removed only half as much cloth as its predecessor.  But the performance amazed the onlookers.  “Ye’ve found a fair provost at the job, Barshalloch,” one of them hiccupped.  “Better quit and pay for the mutchkin.”

My antagonist took every care with his last shot, and, just missing the cockade, hit the hat about the middle, cut the branch on which it rested, and brought it fluttering to the ground a pace or two farther on.  It lay there, dimly seen through a low branch of the cherry tree, with the cockade on the side nearest me.  It was a difficult mark, but the light was good and my hand steady.  I walked forward and brought back the hat with a hole drilled clean through the cockade.

At that there was a great laughter, and much jocosity from the cock-lairds at their friend’s expense.  Barshalloch very handsomely complimented me, and sent for the mutchkin.  His words made me warm towards him, and I told him that half the business was not my skill of shooting but the weapon I carried.

He begged for a look at it, and examined it long and carefully.

“Will ye sell, friend?” he asked.  “I’ll give ye ten golden guineas and the best filly that ever came out o’ Strathendrick for that pistol.”

But I told him that the offer of Strathendrick itself would not buy it.

“No?” said he.  “Well, I won’t say ye’re wrong.  A man should cherish his weapon like his wife, for it carries his honour.”

Presently, having drunk the wager, they went indoors again, all but a tall fellow who had been a looker-on, but had not been of the Lennox company.  I had remarked him during the contest, a long, lean man with a bright, humorous blue eye and a fiery red head.  He was maybe ten years older than me, and though he was finely dressed in town clothes, there was about his whole appearance a smack of the sea.  He came forward, and, in a very Highland voice, asked my name.

“Why should I tell you?” I said, a little nettled.

“Just that I might carry it in my head.  I have seen some pretty shooting in my day, but none like yours, young one.  What’s your trade that ye’ve learned the pistol game so cleverly?”

Now I was flushed with pride, and in no mood for a stranger’s patronage.  So I told him roundly that it was none of his business, and pushed by him to Parlane’s back-door.  But my brusqueness gave no offence to this odd being.  He only laughed and cried after me that, if my manners were the equal of my marksmanship, I would be the best lad he had seen since his home-coming.