“Now draw a bead on that bit of ice out there,” said his instructor, “and we’ll see how you hold. Run your left hand farther forward on the stock--can’t hold steady with it away back like that--a little farther out--that’s better. Now you can stand straight and not have to bend backward like a woman does when she tries to shoot. Do you get the ice? Look through the notch on the rear sight, and bring the bead on the front sight in contact with the bottom of your object. Got it? Try it again. Now we’ll load. Now try it.” Paul, a loaded rifle in his hands for the first time, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The shot went wild. “You closed your eyes at the last moment, and wobbled the gun,” said Remington. “Guess I did,” admitted Paul. “I was afraid to be so near the explosion.” “Well, throw in another cartridge. That’s right. Throw the lever forward; now back. Be careful! It leaves it cocked, you see. Always remember, when you’re not going to shoot again immediately, to put the hammer down, and never carry a cocked gun. That’s a bad habit some sportsmen have, but a man that isn’t quick enough to cock his gun after he sees his game should practice until he can do it, and never go out with his gun until he can. With a rifle it’s never well to carry a cartridge in the chamber. You can throw one in as quickly as you need it. Now try again.” Bang! The shot struck just beneath the bit of ice. “Bully! Bully!” exclaimed Remington and Ainsworth together. Paul flushed with pleasure and excitement. With the next shot he took more careful aim, and simultaneously with the crack of the rifle bits of splintered ice flew from the floating cake. This was indeed a good shot, for by this time the vessel had left the ice well behind. “How was that?” asked Paul, with conscious pride. “Good work!” Remington encouraged. Several more practice shots were fired with varying success, the rifle cleaned, and Remington and Ainsworth went below to overhaul their fishing outfit. Paul, with just pride in his initial achievement with the rifle, strolled forward to exhibit his gun to Dan, who was splicing a rope near the foremast, and had been an interested spectator of the target practice. “Hello, Dan,” he greeted. “Hello, Paul. Been ailin’?” “Ailing! I was awfully sick for two days.” “We were havin’ a bit of nasty sea. ’Tis bad for the seasickness.” “You bet it got me, all right. Would you like to see my rifle?” “Yes, I were wantin’ t’ see un.” Dan took the rifle, looked it over, threw it up to his shoulder and sighted it, like one accustomed to the use of firearms. “She’s a wonderful fine gun!” he exclaimed. “A rare fine gun! An’ she’s pretty, too. I never seen such a fine gun--and such a pretty un.” “Can you shoot?” “I does some shootin’. I hunts with Dad in winter. He traps furs in winter, and he’s took me with him two winters.” “Did you ever shoot anything?”