The first reenactment of Wild West history was the attack of the Redskins on the Pioneers. The show’s regular man, to whom God had given a magnificent, carrying voice, declaimed the narrative so all could hear, the trappers formed their wagons into a circle, the Indians whooped—the riding and the action were altogether splendid.

There was only one problem.

“What’s going on? What’s it about?” asked Édith.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas.

Nor, apart from the Americans in the stand, did anyone else. For although the announcer had a mighty voice, and although he’d been practicing his lines in French for weeks, his idea of French pronunciation was even stranger to his audience than the Wild West itself. As the trumpet sounded, and the U.S. Cavalry came riding in to the rescue, the French were not quite certain who the men in uniform were, or why they were there.

As the thrilling scene ended, they waited in silence.

“Is that it?” whispered Édith. “Should we applaud?”

“Let’s wait till someone else does,” said Thomas. Most of the audience was in the same dilemma. Fortunately the Americans started to applaud, and so everyone thankfully followed suit. But it was not the start that Buffalo Bill was used to.

So as the audience waited for the next tableau, and prepared to strain their ears to try to decipher the announcement—for they all wanted to be pleased—they were a little surprised to see instead the slim young lady walk into the ring, accompanied by some assistants and a table of guns.

Thomas frowned. This surely was an entr’acte, supposed to come later in the show. The first piece of action had at least been exotic. The young lady seemed pleasant enough, but not very exciting. He hoped Édith wasn’t going to be disappointed by the whole thing.

The young performer was looking around at her audience, sensing them. But she remained composed.

From somewhere, a glass ball rose high into the air. Easily, hardly glancing at it, she raised her rifle and shot it so that it burst into a thousand fragments. A cool shot certainly. Another ball, and a second. Two shots, so close together it seemed hardly possible. Both glass balls burst. Very good, it had to be said. She went to the table and picked up another gun. As she did so, three balls went up, in different directions. Three bangs, three hits.