84 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
“Expensive enough, but not half so much gun as this good old American twelve-gauge semiautomatic,” said Ort Throme, who had come up behind them.
Bud felt a surge of irritation. “You’re quite an expert on a lot of things, aren’t you, Ort?” he needled.
The painter grinned. “I’m not much of a hunter, but I do a bit of shooting.”
Bud, who was a skillful marksman, decided that the time had come to show some of his own superiority. “How about shooting a few clay pigeons? We’ll make it a match.”
Ort agreed politely. Each chose a gun and they went outside. Tom volunteered to throw the targets from a hand trap.
Taking turns, Bud and Ort each hit five of the first ten targets. The next one Bud missed, while Ort scored another bull’s-eye. Angry at himself, Bud missed two of the next four. Ort, however, continued to blast every clay pigeon thrown, with monotonous accuracy.
Bud began to perspire and turn red in the face. When the match was over, he had knocked down eighteen out of twenty-five targets. Ort had racked up a perfect score of twenty-five hits!
“You’re probably off form today, Bud,” he said good-naturedly. “I just had a lucky streak.”
“Lucky my eye,” grumbled Bud. “You’re good!” Later, as he and Tom returned the pieces
A CHALLENGING EXPEDITION 85
to the gun room, Bud mopped his brow. “Whew! I’m glad that little warfare wasn’t for real!”
Tom chuckled and slapped his chum on the back. “I guess the moral of that little contest is never shoot against an ex-Marine!”
The rest of the morning was spent on a hike through the woods. Then, after a lunch of sizzling fried trout, Provard gathered his guests on a circle of lawn chairs outside the lodge.