“Gentlemen and One Lady: This ain’t no time fer a long speech. The annual turkey shoot o’ this club’s now on, an’ anybody that’s paid ’is dues an’ ’is entrance fee c’n git in on the game. Ten fat an’ husky birds are in them boxes, an’ the boxes are fifty yards from the rope that’s stretched between them two trees, an’ that’s the shoot’n stand. The chair has made the meas’erments. The birds’ll keep their heads poked up out o’ the holes in the tops o’ the boxes to rubber at the scenery, an’ they gotta be killed by a bullet in the head er neck. Hit’n ’em through the boxes don’t go this year like it did last. Them stone piles is to protect ’em up to the tops. Any eggs found in the boxes after the shoot’n belongs to the winners. Ev’ry shooter’ll have ten shots for ’is dollar, an’ ’e must stand an’ shoot without rest’n ’is rifle on anything but ’imself. No bullet bigger’n yer thumb’s allowed. If you bust the bird’s head, er break ’is neck, it’s yours, an’ if you don’t hit nuth’n in the first ten shots you c’n buy more chances as long as the turkeys an’ yer money last. The money from the shoot’n’ll go to pay fer the fowls, an’ if they’s any live ones left after the show, they’ll be auctioned off to the highest bidders, if they don’t git insulted by the low bids an’ fly off with the boxes. “I guess I’ve told all they is to say, but if they’s anything anybody don’t understand, er if anybody’s got any kick comin’, speak up. Oh, yes, I fergot to say there’ll be a booby prize of a little tin horn with a purple ribbon on it, fer them that can’t shoot should be allowed to toot. If they ain’t no objection the shoot’n’ll now commence.” With another loud bang on the board the address closed and the crowd drifted toward the taut rope. “Hold on there!” yelled Sophy Perkins, frantically waving a small book. “Nobody’s paid a cent yet!” “You fellers’ll have to ante up before any blood runs!” shouted Bill as he again pounded the board. Nineteen contestants qualified at the barrel behind which Sophy presided. Her fishy orbs lighted up at the sight of the money, which she deftly deposited in her stocking after modestly turning her back to the crowd. “She’ll chaperone that cash to the day o’ the resurrection if somebody don’t kep tab on it,” said Hyatt in an undertone as the proceeds disappeared among the mysteries of Sophy’s apparel. “We’re goin’ to put rollers under that old girl some day, but we can’t do it till we c’n git somebody else willin’ to do the work.” Posey and Hyatt were provided with firearms, and Pop Wilkins had brought an old-fashioned muzzle loading rifle with a long barrel, which he handled with much tenderness. “I used to shoot lady-bugs offen the edges o’ the leaves on the tops o’ high trees with this old iron when I was young an’ spry, an’ mebbe I’ll hit sump’n with it today,” he declared, as he ambled over toward the shooting stand.