One shooter squinted out the window. “Shit, what’s them things?” he asked. Another only whistled.

“Come on, podnuhs,” the bartender shouted. “Bottle tops at seventy-five feet.” He was bald and little, with a big droopy mustache, and seemed to be the only man in the room having a good time.

The first shooter, a youngster with a Winchester single shot, got six down. The next man got six. The third knocked down seven, sending the first two contestants cursing to the bar. For a while no one could top that, then the old man called Gris-Gris raked the gray hair out of his eyes and shot eight. Colette shot next and missed the first cap. A beery laughter rose behind her, making the tops of her cheeks burn. She pumped her rifle, knocked down seven, missed another, and drilled the last. No one could do better until the last shooter, the man with the marine camouflage cap. He went through eight straight without a miss, and some shooters turned away for the bar, figuring the match was over. He was shooting smoothly and with increasing rapidity. Colette hoped that he would get carried away with himself, become overconfident. He smiled broadly when the eighth cap spun like a quarter over the dark swamp, worked the bolt on his rifle, and fired as soon as his finger touched the trigger. He missed. The double windows in the bar suddenly filled with faces. The man in the cap blinked, worked the action of his rifle slowly, and listened to the hush mount behind him as he lined the last cap up in his sights.

At this point Colette had a religious experience. A dragonfly lighted on the end of the man’s barrel the instant he pulled the trigger, and he missed. She didn’t hear the roar of cursing and the rattle of chairs and beer cans that cascaded out into the swampy air. She watched the emerald dragonfly flitter off above the duckweed like a little lace-winged angel sent down to make sure she did well in the match. A surge of confidence rose up in her as she turned around to look at her competition: four men, clear-eyed and hungry for money. It was time to reload.