Smith, bombarded with testosterone and self-assertion, was just 16. He was unjustifiably allowed to carry a muzzle loaded shotgun. One day he and two of his schoolmates went on a picnic, he carrying his shotgun and a schoolmate, an old Mauser rifle with only one hand-filled cartridge.
On that very day, Smith miraculously shot one pigeon in fight, one wild goat, of course, with the Mauser and one giant eagle circling above the goat carcass in the sky.
Before running after the wild goats and shooting the game, Smith learned that the well-known local hunter was among the picnickers. The hunter had a break-down double-barrel shot gun. When the local hunter ran after the wild goats, his double-barrel shot gun gleamed in the sunshine; however, he professionally gave up the pursuit as futile. It was at this moment when Smith jumped to his feet and ran like hell after the wild goats. He fired that very single bullet and brought down one wild male goat.
Whatever happened that day was incredible. Nonetheless, he received no hero's welcome, no praise whatsoever, including his schoolmates. Next day, the hearsay concluded that it was the local hunter who shot the wild goat, but the kido found the shot game, claiming to be his own game. Ironically, even the local hunter was concurring with them. Smith hopelessly tried to convince them to the contrary. His reasoning was totally ignored.
Smith was too young to understand the hows and whys of life, but his feeling was badly hurt. Gradually, the subject matter was forgotten.
One day, 6 months later, the hunter was standing at the counter of a Gun Shop. The shop keeper addressing the hunter said:
o It's been a long time since I last saw you. Ain't you shooting no game?
o Actually, no. In the past 8 months, I haven't shot a single bullet. (Now, the shop keeper said, "Hey, sonny, you know you're a minor; so go away.) Smith replied:
o Right, sir. Just came by to say hello to you and the Master. Do you remember me, Master?