THE SHOOTING-MATCH

BY A.B. LONGSTREET


Shooting-matches are probably nearly coeval with the colonization of
Georgia. They are still common throughout the Southern States, though
they are not as common as they were twenty-five or thirty years ago.
Chance led me to one about a year ago. I was traveling in one of the
northeastern counties, when I overtook a swarthy, bright-eyed, smirky
little fellow, riding a small pony, and bearing on his shoulder a long,
heavy rifle, which, judging from its looks, I should say had done
service in Morgan's corps.

"Good morning, sir!" said I, reining up my horse as I came beside him.

"How goes it, stranger?" said he, with a tone of independence and
self-confidence that awakened my curiosity to know a little of his
character.

"Going driving?" inquired I.

"Not exactly," replied he, surveying my horse with a quizzical smile; "I
haven't been a driving _by myself_ for a year or two; and my nose has
got so bad lately, I can't carry a cold trail _without hounds to help
me_."