"Just getting comfortable." Ham sighted again, then flipped off the safety. He took aim at a full-length target of a man, sighted on the middle of the chest and fired, making a big noise. A moment later, the.50 caliber bullet struck the target dead in the crotch, exploding a big chunk out of the tree it was attached to.
"Right on line, but low," Peck said, looking through a small pair of binoculars he had produced from a pocket.
Ham made a small adjustment in the sight. "Nice that there's no wind on the strip, since we've got trees on both sides," he said.
"You can't hit anything with this weapon if there's wind," Peck said. "We wouldn't ask you to shoot under those circumstances."
Ham gripped the big rifle again. He fired, and the middle of the target's chest disappeared.
"Right on," Peck said, checking through his binoculars. "Try for a head shot."
Ham fired again and took off the target's left ear. "My fault," he said. "I pulled too quick." He tried again and blew off the target's head.
"That's terrific shooting," Peck said.
"I'm ready to go to work," Ham replied. "I'll do whatever I can to help. When do I start?"
Peck smiled. "How about next week?"
45
Ham fired through the morning at targets of varying sizes, hitting everything with monotonous regularity.
"Tell me, Ham," Peck said, "how do you sight this thing in if you're in a place that's new to you?"
"Will we know the distance ahead of time?"
"Approximately."
"If somebody can pace it off, then I can preset the elevation; windage is another thing. I'll just have to guess, and I can't guarantee you a kill on the first shot."
Peck nodded gravely. "That's about what I thought."
"Would this be in a public place?"
Peck nodded again.
"You planning to use explosive shells?"
"Probably."
"Then I'd suggest firing a nonexplosive round the first time, followed by an explosive one. Won't take more than a couple of seconds to adjust the sights."
Peck nodded thoughtfully, then he looked at his watch. "Let's get some lunch," he said.
They got back into the truck, and Ham headed back toward Peck's house, but halfway there, he was directed to make a right turn, toward the lake.
"Let's drop your gear off at the bunkhouse," Peck said.
"Okay."
They arrived at a low, clapboard building, and Ham got his duffel from the back of the truck. It was much like a military barracks, one big room with a small office and heads at one end. There were two dozen bunks, and a dozen of them had gear piled on them.
"Pick a bunk," Peck said.
Ham chose the bunk nearest the heads. "Looks like you've got some new arrivals," he said, nodding toward the luggage on the other bunks.