From this night Yan went up and Guy went down in the old man’s opinion, for he spoke his own mind that day when he gave first place to grit.  He invited Yan to come to his shanty to see a pair of snow-shoes he was making.  The invitation was vague and general, so the whole Tribe accepted.  Yan had not been there since his first visit.  The first part of their call was as before.  In answer to their knock there was a loud baying from the Hound, then a voice ordering him back.  Caleb opened the door, but now said “Step in.”  If he was displeased with the others coming he kept it to himself.  While Yan was looking at the snow-shoes Guy discovered something much more interesting on the old man’s bunk; that was the white revolver, now cleaned up and in perfect order.  Caleb’s delight at its recovery, though not very apparent, was boundless.  He had not been able to buy himself another, and this was as warmly welcomed back as though a long-lost only child.

“Say, Caleb, let’s try a shot.  I bet I kin beat the hull gang,” exclaimed Sapwood.

Caleb got some cartridges and pointed to a white blaze on a stump forty yards away.  Guy had three or four shots and Yan had the same without hitting the stump.  Then Caleb said, “Lemme show you.”

His big rugged hand seemed to swallow up the little gun-stock.  His long knobbed finger fitted around the lock in a strange but familiar way.  Caleb was a bent-arm shot, and the short barrel looked like his own forefinger pointing at the target as he pumped away six times in quick succession.  All went into the blaze and two into the charcoal spot that marked the centre.

“By George!  Look at that for shooting!” and the boys were loud in their praise.

“Well, twenty year ago I used to be a pretty good shot,” Caleb proceeded to explain with an air of unnecessary humility and a very genial expression on his face.  “But that’s dead easy.  I’ll show you some real tricks.”

Twenty-five feet away he set up three cartridges in a row, their caps toward him, and exploded them in succession with three rapid shots.  Then he put the revolver in the side pocket of his coat, and recklessly firing it without drawing, much less sighting or even showing it, he peppered a white blaze at twenty yards.  Finally he looked around for an old fruit tin.  Then he cocked the revolver, laid it across his right hand next the thumb and the tin across the fingers.  He then threw them both in the air with a jerk that sent the revolver up ten feet and the tin twenty.  As the revolver came down he seized it and shot a hole through the tin before it could reach the ground.

The boys were simply dumbfounded.  They had used up all their exclamations on the first simple target trial.

Caleb stepped into the shanty to get a cleaning-rag for his darling, and Sam burst out: 

“Well, now I know he never shot at Da, for if he did he’d ‘a’ got him sure.”

It was not meant for Caleb’s ears, but it reached him, and the old Trapper came to the door at once with a long, expressive “H-m-m-mrr.”