Clang! An empty baked bean can spun unevenly into the air and landed out of sight behind the compost heap.

"Not bad, Jeremy," said Stephen. "But let me show you how it's supposed to be done."

He took careful aim and fired. The air rifle let go an explosive wet hiss.

"Rats! My gun jammed."

"I had no idea that that was how I was supposed to do it." Jeremy laughed.

Stephen ignored his friend and pulled hard on the barrel to break the breech.

"It's not funny. It's stuck." He tried again, putting his knee into it. The breech broke and the pellet jumped out onto the grass. "The stinking washer's mangled up."

"Can you fix it?" asked Jeremy.

Stephen shrugged and pushed the battered washer back into place with his thumbnail. He cocked the air rifle, loaded another pellet, and tried again. The pellet curved down and burrowed into the ground about a metre from the nearest can.

Jeremy threw his head back and laughed.

Stephen scowled. He took another shot. This time he aimed much higher. A small ting sounded from the can and it rocked slowly on its base. As if unsure of what to do next, it gently laid down on its side.

"Yes," he shouted. "I am the man."

"I have to admit it." Jeremy nodded. "That was pretty good. I didn't think you would hit it at all. I've never seen a pellet gently nudge a can over before."

Stephen returned a smile, finally seeing the humour in his friend's comments.

"It may have lost all its power but I bet I can hit anything with this rifle. Not very hard, but I could hit it."

"Anything? You reckon?" Jeremy glanced around the rural Manitoban neighbourhood. "I bet you couldn't hit that weather vein." Jeremy pointed to the roof of a small barn in the petting farm, several lots over. Each lot was about thirty metres wide and several hundred metres deep.

"Easy," said Stephen, with a cheeky grin. "Give me your gun."

"No way." Jeremy was using his father's brand new air rifle with the telescopic sight. "You bet me that you could hit anything with your own rifle."

"Then, I bet you a turn with your dad's air rifle."

"If you hit it first time, you can use it for the rest of the afternoon." Jeremy smirked. That bet was no gamble at all.

"You're on." Stephen cocked his old beaten up rifle and aimed directly at the weather vein.

"I think you'll have to aim higher than that." Jeremy giggled.

"Thank you, Jeremy," Stephen said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just sighting it up."

Stephen moved the rifle about, toying with different angles. He finally raised the barrel to about forty-five degrees and fired. They watched the pellet go through the air in what seemed like slow motion. They fixed their eyes on the tiny missile as it disappeared against the grey clouds. The weather vein twitched. A split-second later they heard a faint clang.

"That was amazing," said Jeremy, with a loud laugh. "I bet you'd never make that shot again, even with the wind still behind you."

"I don't think so either." Stephen smiled wide enough to display the fullness of his overbite. ”That has to be the best shot of the day."

"Definately."

Stephen glanced over Jeremy's shoulder. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto something.

"Where's your air rifle?" he asked, thrusting his own rifle into Jeremy's hands.

"I left it on the lawn."

Stephen took a few crouching steps over to the rifle and picked it up. He loaded it and stood up slowly.

"Jeremy," he whispered, "stand in front of me. I want you to use you as a rest."

Jeremy did as he was told. He let Stephen steady the barrel on his shoulder. Although Jeremy knew that his friend had seen another target, he was unsure what it was. He gazed out over the shrubs that lined his back yard. Then, between a pair of poplar trees, Jeremy saw it. A red winged blackbird had perched on a power-line between a hydro pole and the barn.

Before Jeremy could protest, Stephen took a shot. Almost instantly, the bird fell backward and swung upside-down like a Chinese lantern in a breeze. And there it hung, suspended bottom-side-up on a power line by its own lifeless claws.

"Oh crap!" Jeremy's face turned white. "We've got to get it down." He glanced back toward his house. "If my mom and dad see that, they'll go crazy."

"If it was on the ground we could easily go over there and get it," said Stephen.

"If it was on the ground," Jeremy said through clenched teeth, "I'd already be running over there, wouldn't I? You'll have to shoot at it again. You have to knock it off."

Without any further prompting, Stephen loaded the air rifle, rested it on Jeremy's shoulder, and took careful aim.

"Come on Steve," Jeremy whispered. "You can do it. You have to do it."

"I can't," said Stephen, lowering the rifle. "There's a man standing by the barn."

They looked at each other with widening eyes and then bolted around the shed, out of sight.

"This is terrible." Jeremy gnawed on his fingernails. "My dad will never let me use his air-rifle again. I'll be grounded for the rest of my life."

"Don't be silly. I don't think we've been seen. As long as that man doesn't look up, we'll be all right for a while."

Jeremy looked around the shed.

"Why isn't he going away? Why is he just standing there? We need to get that bird down and hide it. If my dad sees it, I'm dead."

"I think he's having a smoke," said Stephen.

"That's great. Another way that someone else smoking is going to get me killed."

Jeremy started gnawing the fingernails on his other hand. He glanced back toward his house. It no longer seemed so far away. Suddenly, the back door opened and Jeremy's mother appeared.

"I don't believe it," said Jeremy. He closed his eyes. "My mom is coming this way."

Jeremy's mother walked down the long path toward them.

"Hi Steve," she said, when she reached them. She examined Jeremy's face. "Jeremy, are you all right? You're looking a bit pale. You're not feeling sick are you?"

"No, Mom." Jeremy wished she would go away. "I'm fine. We're just taking a break from some target shooting. That's all, honest." He glanced sideways at Stephen.

She furrowed her brow at him and then looked over to the compost heap and the perforated cans.

"You will pick those up when you're done, won't you?"

"Yes, mother." Jeremy tried not to sound impatient with her.

"I just wanted to see if you two wanted some lemonade? It won't take me five minutes to make some."

"Yes," said Jeremy, seeing a quick way to get rid of her. "We'd both like some. Thanks."

She headed back to the house. They waited until the back door closed again, then they went around to the other side of the shed.

"It looks like that man has gone." Jeremy stood rigid in front of Stephen. "Quick, shoot it down."

Jeremy held his breath as Stephen targeted the dangling bird. He fired. The upturned bird dropped from the power line like a small bomb. It fell out of sight.

Without waiting for Stephen, Jeremy ran across the back yard and pushed through the row of lilac shrubs. He looked both ways. The next-door neighbour's yard was clear. He ran across into the next line of shrubs and trees and disappeared. He reappeared a minute later, running at full speed, pumping his thin legs as hard and fast as he could. One hand was supporting something inside his jacket.

"Did you get it?" asked Stephen, once they were behind the shed.

Jeremy nodded. He opened his jacket and passed the bird to Stephen.

"Would you look at that?" Stephen held it in both hands.

Jeremy looked down at the dead bird. Imbedded in the side of its head was a pellet. It was a good shot but Jeremy's stomach did not feel very impressed.

"That would explain why it didn't let go of the line and just hung there. It must have died instantly." Stephen looked rather too pleased with himself.

Jeremy felt queasy, but he did not let on. Instead, he took a deep breath and half-grinned back.

"That was some shot," Jeremy said, honestly. "The telescopic sight helped, eh?"

"You bet! Your dad's rifle handles well."

Jeremy glanced down the long back yard. His mother was making her way over, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses.

"Oh no," said Jeremy. "My mom's coming. Quick, throw the bird away."

Stephen threw the dead bird into the shrubbery. The thick foliage swallowed it up, without a trace.

"That was close. I don't know how we would have explained that one." Jeremy's complexion started to return to its normal colour.

"Don't forget, I get to use your dad's rifle for the rest of the afternoon," said Stephen.

Jeremy grunted, knowing that he would have to use Stephen's old, powerless rifle.

“But," Stephen said, with a smirk, "if you can knock another bird off that power line with my rifle, I'll let you have your dad's back."

Jeremy gazed longingly at the brand new air rifle in Stephen's hands.

"All right," Jeremy said, glancing over his shoulder, "but this time you go and get the dead bird."

THE END