“That’s what I want it for,” said Mike; “but, still, I want to know that the old thing will really shoot. If it was properly loaded, would it kill anything?”
“Vy, certainly, mine frendt—certainly. Dot pistol vent through der Revolutionary Var. Heer vos der bullet mold dot goes vid it.”
“You don’t say so! Why, I thought they used flintlocks then. This is a percussion cap pistol. Do you suppose I could get any caps to fit it?”
“Right over at der hardware store,” said the old Jew. “You vill find plenty of dem, mine frendt.”
“What’s the price of the pistol and mold?”
“Oh, mine cootness! Do you vant to rob me? I pay four tollar for dat pistol.”
“All I have is a dollar,” said Mike, taking out a bill. “Here it is. Take it or not just as you please.”
“Cootn’t you make it two tollar?” whined the old Jew. “I vill lose money on it at dot, but I vant to get rid of it.”
“Take it or not,” repeated Mike, waving the dollar bill in front of the shopkeeper’s face.
He got the pistol and left with it in his pocket. Visiting the hardware store, he secured a box of caps and a small supply of powder. In the hardware store Lynch found a tinsmith to whom he made a most peculiar proposition.
“Do you see this?” said Mike, producing the bullet mold. “I want you to mold me a few silver bullets.”
“Silver bullets?” he questioned doubtfully. “Why aren’t lead bullets good enough?”
“I want silver bullets,” persisted Mike. “A silver bullet is the only thing that will destroy a ghost.”
“Look here, young man,” said the tinknocker, “is there anything the matter with your head, or are you talking to hear yourself?”
“Never mind,” he said. “You have a nice little furnace there, and here is a couple of silver dollars. Can’t you melt that money and mold me some bullets?”
“It’s against the law to destroy United States money.”
“But no one besides ourselves will know anything about it. I’ll give you five dollars to do the job for me.”
“Five dollars is an inducement. Have you got it?”
“Here it is,” said Mike, handing it over. “I’ll pay you in advance, and I’ll wait for those bullets.”
When he left he had several fresh-molded silver bullets in his pocket.
The night, in the privacy of his room, with the door securely locked, Lynch carefully loaded and capped the old pistol. Two of the silver bullets were rammed down on top of the powder.