He was back right away, with the target rifle, and then he told me to get up and get away from there, but I couldn't get up.
He was in a towering rage because of the way the target rifle shot.
He snuggled the .22 target rifle professionally to his shoulder.
Now, Step Hen had often fired a target rifle at just such a picture of a deer as this in the shooting gallery in Cranford.
I had left the target rifle on the rocks up by the shanty boat.
Swatty showed me how to carry my target rifle stuck down one pants leg, too, so it wouldn't be visible.