future was in doubt.
The youths had no idea which of them might be chosen and which rejected, or how the selection process would work.
“There is something… odd… about it,” Guillem said to Josep. “The sergeant has had a good chance to judge each of us by now. He has studied everyone closely. Yet he has eliminated no one. It must have been quickly apparent to him, for instance, that Enric is always clumsy and the slowest in the group. Peña doesn’t seem to care.”
“Perhaps he is waiting until the end of the training, and then he will choose those who will be allowed into the army,” Manel said.
“I think he is a strange man,” Guillem said. “I would like to know more about him. I wonder where and how he got his wound.”
“He doesn’t answer questions. He is not a friendly person,” Manel said. “Since he lives in our hut, my father has invited him to our table, but he always eats alone, then he sits alone outside the hut, smoking long, skinny black cigars that stink like piss. He drinks a lot, and he has money. Every night my father has to buy him a full pitcher of brandy from Nivaldo’s barrel.”
“Perhaps he needs a woman,” Guillem said.
“I think he goes to a woman nearby,” Manel said. “At least, sometimes he doesn’t spend the night in the hut. I see him coming back, early in the morning.”
“Well, she should do a better job. She should learn to do things to put him in a better humor,” Guillem said, and the three of them laughed.
They had five sessions of firing the Colt revolvers, each session preceded by practice in loading the weapons and followed by practice in cleaning them. They grew faster and more adept but never fast enough to suit Sergeant Peña.
At the sixth firing session, the sergeant ordered Josep and Guillem to hand him their Colts. When he had received them, he drew other guns from a sack.
“These are for you two alone. You are our marksmen,” he said.
The new gun was heavier than the other and felt formidable and important in Josep’s hand. He was ignorant about firearms, but even to him it was apparent that this gun was different from the Colt. It had two barrels. The top one was long and similar to the Colt’s barrel, but directly beneath it was a second barrel, shorter and fatter.
The sergeant told them the gun was the LeMat revolver, made in Paris. “It has nine revolving chambers instead of six, firing the balls from the upper barrel.” He showed them that the top of the hammer had a pivoting striker that was rotated to fire the lower, larger barrel, which could be filled with small shot to spray a wide target area. “In effect, the lower barrel is a shotgun, sawed off,” Peña said.
He said he expected them to learn to load all nine chambers in the same time it now took them to load six.
The LeMat felt similar to the Colt when the upper barrel was fired. But when Josep fired the lower barrel for the first time it felt as though a giant had placed a palm against the muzzle and pushed it back, so that his shot went wide, spraying the upper branches of a plane tree with bits of lead.
Guillem had the advantage of having observed him, so he used two hands when he fired the shotgun barrel himself, extending his braced arms as he pulled the trigger.
They were amazed at the wide area of fire from the lower barrel. It left holes in the trunks of four trees instead of one.
“Remember this when you fire the LeMat,” the Sergeant said. “There is no possible excuse to miss with this gun.”
15
The Sergeant
Nobody saw the newcomer arrive on his black horse. On a Wednesday morning, when the hunting group drifted toward the clearing in the woods, they observed that the horse was tied to the shack, and when the sergeant emerged from the shack to join them, with him was a middle-aged man. The two were a study in contrasts. Peña, tall and fit, wore soiled work clothes, ragged in places. He had a dagger in a scabbard tied to the calf of his left
The youths had no idea which of them might be chosen and which rejected, or how the selection process would work.
“There is something… odd… about it,” Guillem said to Josep. “The sergeant has had a good chance to judge each of us by now. He has studied everyone closely. Yet he has eliminated no one. It must have been quickly apparent to him, for instance, that Enric is always clumsy and the slowest in the group. Peña doesn’t seem to care.”
“Perhaps he is waiting until the end of the training, and then he will choose those who will be allowed into the army,” Manel said.
“I think he is a strange man,” Guillem said. “I would like to know more about him. I wonder where and how he got his wound.”
“He doesn’t answer questions. He is not a friendly person,” Manel said. “Since he lives in our hut, my father has invited him to our table, but he always eats alone, then he sits alone outside the hut, smoking long, skinny black cigars that stink like piss. He drinks a lot, and he has money. Every night my father has to buy him a full pitcher of brandy from Nivaldo’s barrel.”
“Perhaps he needs a woman,” Guillem said.
“I think he goes to a woman nearby,” Manel said. “At least, sometimes he doesn’t spend the night in the hut. I see him coming back, early in the morning.”
“Well, she should do a better job. She should learn to do things to put him in a better humor,” Guillem said, and the three of them laughed.
They had five sessions of firing the Colt revolvers, each session preceded by practice in loading the weapons and followed by practice in cleaning them. They grew faster and more adept but never fast enough to suit Sergeant Peña.
At the sixth firing session, the sergeant ordered Josep and Guillem to hand him their Colts. When he had received them, he drew other guns from a sack.
“These are for you two alone. You are our marksmen,” he said.
The new gun was heavier than the other and felt formidable and important in Josep’s hand. He was ignorant about firearms, but even to him it was apparent that this gun was different from the Colt. It had two barrels. The top one was long and similar to the Colt’s barrel, but directly beneath it was a second barrel, shorter and fatter.
The sergeant told them the gun was the LeMat revolver, made in Paris. “It has nine revolving chambers instead of six, firing the balls from the upper barrel.” He showed them that the top of the hammer had a pivoting striker that was rotated to fire the lower, larger barrel, which could be filled with small shot to spray a wide target area. “In effect, the lower barrel is a shotgun, sawed off,” Peña said.
He said he expected them to learn to load all nine chambers in the same time it now took them to load six.
The LeMat felt similar to the Colt when the upper barrel was fired. But when Josep fired the lower barrel for the first time it felt as though a giant had placed a palm against the muzzle and pushed it back, so that his shot went wide, spraying the upper branches of a plane tree with bits of lead.
Guillem had the advantage of having observed him, so he used two hands when he fired the shotgun barrel himself, extending his braced arms as he pulled the trigger.
They were amazed at the wide area of fire from the lower barrel. It left holes in the trunks of four trees instead of one.
“Remember this when you fire the LeMat,” the Sergeant said. “There is no possible excuse to miss with this gun.”
15
The Sergeant
Nobody saw the newcomer arrive on his black horse. On a Wednesday morning, when the hunting group drifted toward the clearing in the woods, they observed that the horse was tied to the shack, and when the sergeant emerged from the shack to join them, with him was a middle-aged man. The two were a study in contrasts. Peña, tall and fit, wore soiled work clothes, ragged in places. He had a dagger in a scabbard tied to the calf of his left
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