At that distance the head of the nail looked like a tiny black speck.

Wetzel took one of the locks of hair that waved over his broad shoulders and held it up in front of his eyes a moment.

He thus ascertained that there was not any perceptible breeze.

The long black barrel started slowly to rise--it seemed to the interested onlookers that it would never reach a level and when, at last, it became rigid, there was a single second in which man and rifle appeared as if carved out of stone.
Then followed a burst of red flame, a puff of white smoke, a clear ringing report.
Many thought the hunter had missed altogether.

It seemed that the nail had not changed its position; there was no bullet hole in the white lime wash that had been smeared round the nail.