No, she’s gun-shy all right.” “Aw, well,” Papa said, “that doesn’t mean anything.
A lot of dogs are afraid of guns.” “I know,” I said, “but you wouldn’t think she would be that way.
I believe if I had a gun of my own I could break her of being gun-shy.”
Papa looked at me. He said, “From what your mother says, you won’t be getting a gun for some time yet.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. When we reached the store we saw the team was already hitched to the buggy and was standing in front of the store.
Grandpa had loaded the tent and several boxes of groceries.
I had never seen him in such high spirits. He slapped Papa on the back, saying, “I’m sure glad you could go with us.
It’ll do you good to get out once in a while.” Papa laughed and said, “It looked like I had to go or have everyone in the family mad at me.”
Looking in the buggy I saw my ax. I didn’t think I ever wanted to see it again, but for some reason it didn’t look like I thought it would.
There was no blood on it and it looked harmless enough laying there all clean and bright.
Grandpa saw me looking at it. He came over. “I kept it a few days,” he said, “just in case the marshal wanted to ask some questions.
Everything seems to be all right now, and we may need a good ax on this hunt.”
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