Like Gary Cooper in High Noon, he strides towards the green, brow damp but resolve steady. It’s ripple-free yet undulating like sand dunes in the Sahara. The target perches, quivering and defying gravity, on its glistening sward. A posse looks on, weapons drawn. The red pennant the only thing stirring.
Flat stick pulled out and with nerves of steel he takes aim and fires. The magic sphere begins its journey, following a pre-ordained path. Its destination looms out of the haze. Ten yards it travels and drops with a crack, for a score of 64.
“Good shooting Tex,” they say.
Flat stick pulled out and with nerves of steel he takes aim and fires. The magic sphere begins its journey, following a pre-ordained path. Its destination looms out of the haze. Ten yards it travels and drops with a crack, for a score of 64.
“Good shooting Tex,” they say.
