Through by Daylight by Oliver Optic

Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop -- six pops.

Mr. Waddie Wimpleton, an elegant young gentleman of fifteen, by all odds the nicest young man in Centreport, was firing at a mark with a revolver. It was a very beautiful revolver, too, silver-mounted, richly chased, and highly polished in all its parts, discharging six shots at each revolution, not often at the target, in the unskilful hands of Mr. Waddie, but sometimes near enough to indicate what the marksman was shooting at.