For an old codger he's not 'alf bad (part 3)

We had spent so long talking about life and family issues that, by the time we got to the clearing Arthur was leading me to, I had half-forgotten why we were walking in the first place.

“Come to think of it, did we really need to come quite this far out? And in the dead a' night, no less?”

“Distance and darkness be’þ þe best forms of cuvver. ‘Tis less þan ydeal, certanely, but seekrettly conducting tests of a repeating gun is far from a good look when one ys suspected of murder, ys it, boy?”

“Alright, alright, I get ya's.” I pretty much already knew that, I was just complaining for the sake of complaining. As a Brit, I consider it my national pastime. “So… hows we doin’ this? I just supposed to rattle off shots into the darkness?”

“Nay, dear boy, beastes inhabit þese woods. ‘Tis bad enuff þat we disturb þeir peace, I do not wish to causs þem fisikal harm as well.” He took a few steps towards the edge of the clearing, where he knocked his fist on a large tree. It was a big enough target that missing it would be genuinely embarrassing. “þese trees be'þ strong and old, þey’ve survyved þe harshest of winters. þey will not yield to a pellet of ledd. We will use þis as our target.”

He stepped away from the tree and towards me, where I was drawing the revolver and the eight rounds from within my pocket. I found the latch that held the revolving chamber in place and released it, before filling each slot with a bullet. It came to my attention that there were quite a bit larger than I had expected, but then so was the gun, so I suppose that made sense.

“Anything I should know before I fire?” I asked the old man as I pulled back the hammer.

“Only þat 'twill lykely to have kwyte þe kick to it. I would recommend using boþ hands. It may be dænjerus to fyre it wiþ just one.”

“Yeah, ‘s prob'ly for the best, innit?”

I gripped the gun tightly in my left hand, wrapping my right hand around it for support, and took aim

at the tree down my sights. Steadying myself and preparing for the recoil, I moved my finger to the trigger and fired.

Just as Arthur had said, the gun had one hell of a kick to it. If I had been using it in one hand, I half expect it would have broken my wrist. But the most important thing is that it fired. And it fired with immense force. It had worked exactly as we had hoped.

Now testing the loading mechanism and ensuring it wasn’t a fluke, I pulled the hammer back again and fired. Just as before, it fired with an intense kick. I looked over to Arthur, who prompted me to fire again. And again. And again, until all eight rounds had been fired into the tree. I held the gun in my hand, the barrel far too hot to put in my pocket, and walked over to the tree. Eight distinct marks, all having obliterated the surrounding bark with great force, were visible on the tree. Every shot had fired perfectly, and every shot had found it’s target.

“Welp, congrats are in order, old boy,” I said, turning away from the tree. “You’ve invented the most powerful handheld weapon in the world.”