The Ivory Child | Page 8

order some, as, fortunately, Lord
Ragnall had mentioned that the guns he was going to lend me were
twelve-bores. The tradesman asked me how many cartridges I wanted,
and when I replied "a hundred," stared at me and said:

"If, as I understood, sir, you are going to the big winter shoot at Ragnall
to-morrow, you had better make it three hundred and fifty at least. I
shall be there to watch, like lots of others, and I expect to see nearly
two hundred fired by each gun at the last Lake stand."
"Very well," I answered, fearing to show more ignorance by further
discussion. "I will call for the cartridges on my way to-morrow
morning. Please load them with three drachms of powder."
"Yes, sir, and an ounce and an eighth of No. 5 shot, sir? That's what all
the gentlemen use."
"No," I answered, "No. 3; please be sure as to that. Good evening."
The gunsmith stared at me, and as I left the shop I heard him remark to
his assistant:
"That African gent must think he's going out to shoot ostriches with
buck shot. I expect he ain't no good, whatever they may say about
him."
CHAPTER II
ALLAN MAKES A BET
On the following morning Scroope and I arrived at Castle Ragnall at or
about a quarter to ten. On our way we stopped to pick up my three
hundred and fifty cartridges. I had to pay something over three solid
sovereigns for them, as in those days such things were dear, which
showed me that I was not going to get my lesson in English pheasant
shooting for nothing. The gunsmith, however, to whom Scroope gave a
lift in his cart to the castle, impressed upon me that they were dirt
cheap, since he and his assistant had sat up most of the night loading
them with my special No. 3 shot.
As I climbed out of the vehicle a splendid-looking and portly person,
arrayed in a velvet coat and a scarlet waistcoat, approached with the air
of an emperor, followed by an individual in whom I recognized Charles,

carrying a gun under each arm.
"That's the head-keeper," whispered Scroope; "mind you treat him
respectfully."
Much alarmed, I took off my hat and waited.
"Do I speak to Mr. Allan Quatermain?" said his majesty in a deep and
rumbling voice, surveying me the while with a cold and disapproving
eye.
I intimated that he did.
"Then, sir," he went on, pausing a little at the "sir," as though he
suspected me of being no more than an African colleague of his own, "I
have been ordered by his lordship to bring you these guns, and I hope,
sir, that you will be careful of them, as they are here on sale or return.
Charles, explain the working of them there guns to this foreign
gentleman, and in doing so keep the muzzles up /or/ down. They ain't
loaded, it's true, but the example is always useful."
"Thank you, Mr. Keeper," I replied, growing somewhat nettled, "but I
think that I am already acquainted with most that there is to learn about
guns."
"I am glad to hear it, sir," said his majesty with evident disbelief.
"Charles, I understand that Squire Scroope is going to load for the
gentleman, which I hope he knows how to do with safety. His
lordship's orders are that you accompany them and carry the cartridges.
And, Charles, you will please keep count of the number fired and what
is killed dead, not reckoning runners. I'm sick of them stories of
runners."
These directions were given in a portentous stage aside which we were
not supposed to hear. They caused Scroope to snigger and Charles to
grin, but in me they raised a feeling of indignation.
I took one of the guns and looked at it. It was a costly and beautifully

made weapon of the period, with an under-lever action.
"There's nothing wrong with the gun, sir," rumbled Red Waistcoat. "If
you hold it straight it will do the rest. But keep the muzzle up, sir, keep
it up, for I know what the bore is without studying the same with my
eye. Also perhaps you won't take it amiss if I tell you that here at
Ragnall we hates a low pheasant. I mention it because the last
gentleman who came from foreign parts--he was French, he was--shot
nothing all day but one hen bird sitting just on the top of the brush, two
beaters, his lordship's hat, and a starling."
At this point Scroope broke into a roar of idiotic laughter. Charles,
from whom Fortune decreed that I was not to escape, after all, turned
his back and doubled up as though seized with sudden pain in the
stomach, and