Chapter 13

While Marion, the Librarian, is learning the intricacies of eye hand coordination ... though ... in this particular instance ... Eye, right hand, left foot, right foot in such a manner as to cause a five thousand pound ... two and a half tons of steel, rubber and glass ... to propel itself and occupants smoothly through a right turn after stop without destroying the neighbors rosebushes ... or the cop car waiting to turn at the same intersection of a pair of city streets...

No pressure. No ... none at all...

We, through the magic of writing, are going to return to a conversation David and Marion had at the rendezvous in the valley.

“Nice gun scabbard. Whatcha shootin’? Hmm?”

David was referring to the quill decorated leather bag containing the walnut brown buttstock displayed so nicely.

“Agnes,” she named the rifle. “Mountain rifle,” said she shyly. “I put her together from a kit Daddy brought me for my 12th birthday.”

David, ever practical, said, “How does she shoot?” Shoot being more important than looks. The ability to place a projectile down range and hit what one was aiming at trumped beauty any day of the week.

“Better than the shooter.” Marion said. She placed a possessive hand on the colorful case.

“Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Marion slowly pulled a rifle from the scabbard. The four screw German Silver capbox immediately bespoke American made CVA. The nicely reshaped straight grained maple wood also brought to mind ... a GOOD CVA. As the silver trigger guard was exposed David decided, ‘parts-gun.’ The small Siler flintlock re enforced that decision. A CVA Mountain Rifle this was not. The wood, barrel and under rib might be but nothing else was Connecticut Valley Arms.

“I poured the pewter nosecap on the rifle,” she said. “The CVA ramrod ferrules were gross so I hammered out German silver ones with a drill bit and a vice. Silver soldered them to the notched rib. I left the front sight but filed the rear out of 3/8” inch barstock.” The rear sight was 6 inches long and fancy.

As the rifle left the scabbard the Blue Ribbon award for Best Kit Rifle by a Junior Shooter snagged on the front sight. She blushed.

“You did this?” David said, “Not your Dad?”

“He watched ... and offered advice ... but yes ... I did it.”

David went through the motions associated with a new gun. Checking the depth of the bore and making sure the barrel was empty by the sound of the ramrod thump. Pointing the empty rifle at the ground and checking the spark. Throwing it up to the shoulder, sighting a distant object. Half cock and approving the set trigger pull. Feeling for balance, and one-handed carry.

“Wanna go shoot?”

A nod.

David handed the the rifle back and retrieved his Uberti, ‘possibles,’ powderhorn, rifle stand and range rod. Marion was already out the lodge door.

‘Heck’ he thought. ‘I hate to see her go ... but I love to watch her walk away.’