"I know it; but another thing, this musket kicks like blazes. I had as
soon stand before it, as behind it. But I'll try him;" and Archie raised
his gun and blazed away. This time there was no mistake; the squirrel was
torn almost to pieces by the ball; and when the smoke cleared away, Frank
saw his cousin sitting on the ground, holding both hands to his nose,
which was bleeding profusely.

"You've killed the squirrel," he said.

"Yes," answered Archie; "but I hurt myself as much as I did him."

Frank was a good deal amused, and could scarcely refrain from laughing at
his cousin's misfortune. He tried to keep on a sober face, but the corners
of his mouth would draw themselves out into a smile, in spite of himself.
Archie noticed this, and exclaimed:

"Oh, it's a good joke, no doubt."

"If you would hold your gun firmly against your shoulder," said Frank, "it
wouldn't hurt half so bad. But hadn't we better go on?"

Archie raised himself slowly from the ground, and they moved off through
the woods. The squirrels were very plenty; but it required two or three,
and, sometimes, as many as half a dozen shots, to bring one down.

At length, after securing four squirrels, their shoulders became so lame
that they could scarcely raise their guns; so they concluded to give up
shooting, and start in search of Woods and Simpson, who had gone off
together. About noon they found them, sitting on the fence that ran
between the woods and a road. Simpson had three squirrels in his hand.