Excerpt from Upcoming Novel
“What you wanna do is dump yer powder down the barrel. Put in yer ball. Ram it. Rock yer hammer back and hold on!” The soldier handed the rifle back to Cotton, adding, “It’s gonna be smoky, so make sure there is something close by to give you cover after you shoot.” He nodded his head goofily and smiled as Della took her weapon and walked away.
And that was the extent of her training with a rifle. Back in Boone, she could hit a small tree with a stone from twenty or thirty feet away. So she considered herself to have a good eye. The thought had never crossed her mind to aim at a living creature, but she was thinking differently now. And she had two specific targets in mind.
She would have liked to practice some, but ammunition was in low supply and could not be wasted. One less musket ball in battle could cost a soldier his or her life. So she took practice shots in her mind. On the left stood Josiah Jackson. On the right, Burdock. They were close enough so that she could make out their ugly faces. Had they been farther, imagining the shot would have been difficult. But able to see who they were, the evil in them stood out. Obviously, these were targets deserving of the musket balls that would be fired at them. When the time came, she would be willing to spare a few.
Not too far away, she saw her friend John. Even in the small crowd, he stood out to her. Without thinking, she walked toward him. It was the natural place to go.
“John,” she called.
There had been some hold up at the supply tent, and she had given up waiting for him.
“Look, John.” She held out the rifle, like a child showing off an amazing Christmas gift.
Embarrassed, John tucked his new weapon, a knife, into the back of his belt. Seeing that he was empty-handed, she immediately toned down her enthusiasm.
John was pleased for his friend. “A rifle,” he said, half a statement and half a question.
“I know,” she answered.
John asked, “Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course I know how to use it,” she stated, slightly insulted. “You put the powder and the ball in, ram it, and shoot.”
“Uh-huh,” he stated.
It seemed awkward to not ask, so she reluctantly proceeded with the question. “Did you get one?”
Sheepishly, he replied, “No.” Reaching back, he retrieved the blade and removed it from its scabbard. To be sure, he was not its first owner. But the blade was shiny, and the sun reflected off of it as he tilted it to show his friend. “I don’t think they’ll be givin’ me any more guns.” He looked down. “But they said that a man had a right to protect himself. So, this is my protection.” He didn’t intend to get close enough to any yankees to use it. “I guess they figure its harder to make a mistake with a knife and ,from close up, even a fool like me would know if they was a yankee or a gentleman.”
The thought crossed Della’s mind that a man was not a gentleman just by virtue of not being a yankee. She could think of at least two southern men who were not.
