“Sugar Plum, you know that wonderful Smith shooting gallery I just restored? Wouldn’t it be a hoot to have a shooting competition? Do you think people would sign up to compete against me? Everyone knows I’m the best shot in town.”

     “Tracker, don’t you think that’s a bit arrogant! But a competition could be a lot of fun. Let’s give it a try.”

     We decided to see if we could start a tradition. We planned a fundraiser for the local schools hoping it would become an annual event. We picked a date, and Sugar Plum helped me prepare the ad for the local paper.

Come One! Come All! For a family day including a picnic, barbecue, fishing and games. The main event will be a marksmanship competition on a 1914 Smith Shooting Gallery restored to pristine condition. Great Prizes! Lots of Fun!

     A week before the event, I sighted in all the old Winchester pump gallery rifles that shoot .22 shorts. They could drive nails. No one could complain that they didn’t shoot straight.

     While families were picnicking and enjoying the barbecued fish from our trout pond, competitors were lining up to challenge me at my own game. I couldn’t believe how many showed up. I guess they really wanted to dethrone this self-proclaimed champ, but I wasn’t nervous. The cash register was ringing as every participant made a donation. All the proceeds at the end of the day went to a scholarship fund.

     Everyone was given safety glasses and ear plugs. The rules were simple: Shoot until you miss. Top score wins.

     My friend Joel, an FBI firearms instructor, was the range master to ensure the safety of the event. He made sure no spectator was within harm’s way. He also kept score and reset the gallery targets after each contestant.

     The competition went on for hours. There were piles of shell casings everywhere. Joel was running out of steam, and I hadn’t had a chance to shoot yet.

     There are one hundred targets on the gallery; therefore, a perfect score is 100. In case of a tie, we had to keep shooting until someone missed. All the hot shots from the rod and gun clubs were scoring from 30 to 56. Cole, a kid from the 4-H gun club was leading the pack in the youth group with 38. My buddy Justus thought he was the best shot in the county, but he only scored a 56 and was leading in the adult group. This game was not as easy as it appeared, or the competition was weak.

     Every time someone started coming close to beating the current high score, they would get nervous and start shaking. People who were usually confident and poised got rattled.

     We had one last contestant besides me, a little red-headed 11 year old kid. He swaggered up to the counter with his big blue eyes and assessed the gallery. He turned to his dad and asked, “Should I show them how it’s done?”
“Go for it, Gray.”
Grayden picked up the .22 Joel handed him and gave it back. “This one doesn’t feel right.”

     Joel handed him another one and Grayden rubbed the soot off the front sight just like Davy Crockett. “OK, I’m ready.”

     Joel made sure the targets were all reset and signaled Grayden to shoot.

     Everyone was still waiting for the results of the competition. They were all crowding in. Grayden asked the crowd to back off and give him some breathing room. He even made Thumper move out from under the table, as she was a distraction.

     As he started shooting, there was some chattering in the crowd, but as he got to the end of the third row of targets, the crowd went silent. He was well on his way to a championship.

     When he got to the moving targets, he stopped to catch his breath. The barrel of the gun was smoking, and Joel asked him if he wanted another one. “This one is lucky so far. I’m sticking with it.”

     He ran through the moving targets with the ease of Ad Topperwein. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. He had scored 100, but he continued shooting. Whenever he was out of ammo, he handed the gun to Joel and hollered, “Fill it up!”

     Poor Thumper was covering her ears. She was tired of the constant noise.

     As Grayden finished his second run through the targets shooting 200 straight, I realized I was not going to win this competition. “Holy Hannah!” I muttered. “Now he has broken my own personal record!” I buried my head in my hands. I didn’t want to watch my title being taken away.

     Joel reset the targets for the third time and reloaded the gun. “Gray, are you tired yet? Does your arm hurt?”
“Heck no. This is great fun.”
“It’s a good thing you were at the end of the line. No one else would have been able to compete!”
Grayden chuckled, “Why do you think I waited until last? I wanted to make sure there was a pot of money for the school. No one would have wanted to compete after I had a turn.”
When he started shooting again, I couldn’t resist and peaked through my fingers.
“Hey, Tracker, we’re out of ammo? Have you got anymore stashed?”
“No, Joel, that’s it. I can’t believe we went through 10,000 rounds.

     “Sorry, Gray, I guess the competition is over. You are the new champion. Congratulations!!!”

     The crowd cheered and clapped. Grayden’s dad lifted him up on his shoulders for a triumphant walk to the trophy. Gray was punching the air like a boxing champ.

     I presented him with his trophy for Marksman of the Year, which was bigger than he was. He was grinning from ear to ear. All his buddies were giving him high fives and patting him on the back. His dad was so proud he couldn’t speak. What a great ending!

     “Well, Sugar Plum, it was a terrific day!”

     “Sure was, Tracker. It is too bad you ran out of ammunition and didn’t get a chance to shoot. But there’s always next year.”

      I whispered to Thumper, “What Sugar Plum doesn’t know is that I am glad I ran out of ammo so I didn’t have to compete and face defeat.”