Feivel's paws ached from hammering the last platform post into place. The stage was ready. The targets hung perfect. His dream was finally taking shape—a legendary act that would make the Mouskowitz name famous enough to reach his scattered family. He stepped back and wiped his brow with his tail. The high-wire stretched taut overhead. His revolvers gleamed in their holsters. Tomorrow the sideshow would open its doors. People would gasp at his acrobatics. They would cheer when he shot targets mid-flip. Word would spread across the land. Maybe, just maybe, his family would hear the Mouskowitz name again. The building itself wasn't much to look at yet—weathered wood and faded paint. But Feivel could see what it would become. Red banners would hang from the rafters. Lanterns would glow warm in the evening. The scent of roasted nuts would fill the air. Inside these walls, his High-wire Revolver Daredevil Sideshow would come alive. Every performance would be a beacon calling his lost kin home. He touched the earring that matched his sister's. Soon, he thought. Soon they would find each other again. Feivel climbed the ladder to test the high-wire one last time. His boots gripped each rung. He reached the top platform and looked down at the showcase stage below. The shooting targets dangled at different heights. Some spun on chains. Others swung back and forth. He pulled his revolver and fired three quick shots. Each target rang out. His paw was steady. His aim was true. This act would work. People would come from everywhere to see it. And somewhere out there, his family would hear about the mouse who danced on wires and never missed a shot. They would know it was him. They would come home. He needed more practice before opening day. Feivel walked outside behind the building where he'd set up his shooting range. The rotating targets gleamed in the afternoon light. Metal accents caught the sun. He loaded both revolvers and took his position. One shot. Two. Three. Each bullet found its mark. He flipped backward and fired mid-air. Another hit. His skills were sharp, but they could be sharper. The Six-shooter Savage Shooting Range would help him perfect every trick shot. Every bullet he fired brought him closer to the legendary act his family would recognize. He holstered his guns and looked back at his sideshow building. Tomorrow would change everything. The Mouskowitz name would ring out again.