THE SHOOTING CONTEST
It was decided that the shooting contest should take place the next day.
“It doesn’t give us much time to practice,” grumbled Fred.
“We might as well have it over with,” answered Jack. “There is no use of allowing it to interfere with our lessons or with the coming election for officers.”
“Do you think we can shoot as well as Brassy?”
“We can try, Fred. From all reports he’s quite a wonderful shot. It seems he comes from a place where everybody is used to firearms.”
It had been decided to hold the contest on the regular range back of the school grounds. Fred and Jack had been in favor of rifles, but the boy from the West had voted in favor of pistols. As a consequence, Captain Dale had told them the contest would be divided into two parts of a possible fifteen points each, the first part to take place with pistols and the second with rifles.
“Say, you fellows have just got to snow Brassy under!” cried Randy. “Don’t leave him a leg to stand on.”
“That’s easy enough to say, Randy,” answered Jack. “But it isn’t so easy to do.”
“I know it, and I was only fooling. However, do your best and make some kind of showing against that loud-mouthed fellow.”
Early on the morning of the contest Jack and Fred received permission to take rifles and pistols and do a little practicing with the firearms. They went out alone, not wishing to be disturbed by any one.
As they were crossing the fields they saw a figure coming from a side road. The person approaching had the cape of his overcoat drawn up tightly around his throat and wore his cap pulled down well over his forehead.
“That fellow looked like Brassy Bangs,” declared Fred, as the distant figure leaped over a hedge and disappeared.
“It certainly did look like Brassy,” answered his cousin. “But what in the world could he be doing out so early in the morning?”
“Maybe he was practicing a little on his own account.”
“He didn’t have any gun with him.”
“That’s right. But he might have a pistol.”
“He never struck me as a fellow who would get up so very early. He always appeared to be rather lazy. And besides that, he didn’t come from the range. He came from the river road.”
“I know it, Jack. Maybe he’s been out all night for a good time with some of those fellows from town.”
After this the two Rovers lost no time in hurrying to the rifle range, and there practised with their pistols and their rifles until it was time to return to the Hall for roll call and the drill before breakfast.
“Well, we may not win, but we’ll make some kind of a showing,” remarked Fred.
It was a clear day, the air just bracing enough to put the cadets of Colby Hall in good spirits. When the time came for the contest nearly all of them hurried to the range.
“Now then, Lest, show ’em what you can do!” cried Paul Halliday.
“The Rovers won’t have a look-in!” broke out Billy Sands. “It will be a regular walk-away for Lest.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” answered Gif.
“Brassy may be all right enough with a pistol; but don’t forget that Jack and Fred know how to handle a rifle,” added Spouter.
A coin was tossed up and it was thereby decided that the contest with pistols should take place first. Each contestant was to shoot three times, the rings on the target counting from 1 to 5. The three contestants were to shoot in rotation, Fred first, Brassy second, and Jack last.
If Fred was a trifle nervous when he went to the front to shoot, he did his best to control it. Taking as careful aim as possible, he fired.
“A three!”
“That’s good enough for a starter!”
With a self-satisfied look on his face, Brassy Bangs strode forward, took quick aim, and fired.
“A bull’s-eye!” shouted Billy Sands in delight.
“I told you he could do it!” added Paul Halliday.
When Jack came to the front he managed to make a 4.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Randy. “You’re only one point behind!”
On the second round Fred managed to make a 4, while Jack scored a 3, thus tying the Rovers. Brassy scored a 4.
“Seven to nine in favor of Bangs!”
Then came the third round, and again Fred scored a 3 and Jack did likewise, while Brassy delighted his cronies by scoring another bull’s-eye.
“A total of ten each for the Rovers!”
“And fourteen for Bangs!”
“I told you Lest could hold ’em down!” shouted Billy Sands.
“Just wait till they shoot with the rifles. He’ll walk away from ’em!” added Paul Halliday.
It must be admitted that the Rovers and their chums were somewhat disappointed that the score stood four points in favor of Brassy.
“Now, Fred, do your best,” whispered Andy to his cousin, as the latter went to the front after carefully examining the rifle handed to him by Captain Dale.
The firearm was a light affair, but of approved pattern and supposed to be quite accurate for use at a distance of two hundred yards.
Fred took longer to aim with the rifle than he had with the pistol, and there was a breathless silence until after the report rang out.
“A four!”
“That’s the stuff, Fred!”
“Now, Brassy, let us see what you can do!”
As confident as ever, Brassy Bangs came to the front, took the rifle handed to him, and shot rather hastily.
“A three!”
Jack was up next, and to the dismay of many of his friends made only a 2.
Then came the second round with rifles, and in that Fred scored a 4, Bangs a 1, and Jack a 3.
“Hurrah! Fred Rover and Brassy Bangs are tied with eighteen points each.”
“And Jack Rover has fifteen points.”
Then came the final round, and amid a breathless silence Fred shot and scored a bull’s-eye. Then came Bangs, and made a 2. And Jack ended the contest with a bull’s-eye.
“Hurrah! Fred Rover wins the match with twenty-three points!”
“Yes, and Jack Rover and Brassy Bangs are tied for second place with twenty each!”
“Hurrah for Fred Rover!”
“Pretty good shooting, I’ll say!”
“It was all to the merry, Fred!” exclaimed Jack, as he caught his cousin’s hand. “You did fine!”
“The best ever!” burst out Andy.
“Say, Jack, why don’t you and Brassy shoot off the tie?” questioned Spouter.
“I’m willing,” was the ready reply of the young captain.
“I’ll shoot off the tie with pistols,” put in Brassy quickly.
“No, let it be with rifles,” broke in Randy.
“I’ll tell you what I think would be fair,” announced Captain Dale. “Each of you take one shot with a rifle and one shot with a pistol.” And after quite a little discussion it was so agreed.
The pistols were used first, and there Brassy made a bull’s-eye while Jack managed to register a 4. Then the rifles were used, and here Jack, shooting first, made a bull’s-eye while Brassy got a 2.
“Hurrah! Nine to seven in favor of Captain Rover!”
“Some shooting, Jack!”
“If you had shot as good as that in the first contest you might have beaten Fred.”
“I’m quite content, even if I didn’t beat Fred,” announced the young captain, with a smile.
Brassy Bangs was quite gloomy over the outcome of the contest, and he and his cronies lost no time in quitting the range.
“I’m mighty glad you two fellows beat him,” announced Gif. “Maybe it will take a little of the conceit out of him.”
“Well, Gif, you’ve got to admit he’s a wonderful shot with the pistol,” answered Jack.
“Yes. And his rifle work isn’t any worse than mine,” answered Andy. “Now, I’ll promise to make a lot of bull’s-eyes for you if you’ll let me use a good-sized shotgun or a blunderbuss,” and at this there was a snicker.
For the rest of that day Brassy Bangs had little to say. But the next morning he was as loud-mouthed as ever, declaring that he would have won the contest had he been allowed to use his own pistol—a long affair of the old-fashioned western variety.
“Had he done that it might have given him one more point,” declared Randy. “Of course that would have put him ahead of Jack in the first contest, but it wouldn’t have helped him when it came to the rifle work.”
“Oh, let’s drop Brassy,” said Jack. “I am really getting tired of hearing of him.”
“I can’t bear him,” put in Phil Franklin. “Once or twice he has tried to become chummy with me, but I’ve always given him the cold shoulder.”
It was now drawing on toward the time for the election, and there was a great deal of wire-pulling among the various cadets as to who might run for the offices. Three names were in the field for the office of major: Jack, a Captain Glasby, and a Lieutenant Harkness.
Glasby was a fellow who was very well liked, while Harkness was a lieutenant who at one time had been more or less of a crony of Nappy Martell, Gabe Werner, and others of the crowd that had been opposed to the Rover boys.
“Well, I sha’n’t complain if Glasby gets the position,” declared Jack. “But I’d hate mightily to see Lieutenant Harkness at the head of the school battalion.”
“I never liked Harkness myself,” put in Spouter. “He isn’t a bit better in many respects than Gabe Werner.”
It was soon noised around the school that Brassy Bangs and his cronies were doing their best for Harkness, while another crowd, led by Bart White, were rooting in rather a lively fashion for Captain Glasby.
“We’ve got to get busy for Jack,” said Gif to Spouter. “Come on! Let’s sound out all the fellows in the Hall we think we can influence.” And thereupon he and Spouter and a number of others set to work to electioneer for Jack as hard as they could.
Several days before the election Andy and Randy obtained permission to go to Haven Point on an errand. It was rather a disagreeable, misty day, and they were tramping along through the mud on the outskirts of the town when they saw Brassy Bangs and a stranger ahead of them. The stranger was a tall, thin individual, dressed in an old-fashioned suit of rusty black and with a big slouch hat pulled well down over his head. He was puffing away at a large black cigar, and seemed to be very much in earnest in what he was saying to Brassy.
“I saw that fellow around the school about a week ago,” declared Randy. “He didn’t look like a very nice sort, either.”
“He certainly has a fierce-looking mustache,” was Andy’s comment. “And it’s as red as his hair.”
“I tell you I can’t do it, and that’s all there is to it,” the boys heard Brassy exclaim, in reply to something the stranger had said.
“And I say you’ve got to do it,” returned the man, and his tone was decidedly ugly. “You’ve got to do it—or otherwise you’ve got to take the consequences.”
“You wouldn’t be so mean, Haddon!” pleaded Brassy, and now the Rovers could see that he was more or less scared.
“Wouldn’t I?” returned the strange man harshly. “You just try me and see! The best thing you can do is to agree to what I said. If you don’t, well——” and here the tall man shrugged his shoulders—“you’ll do as I said before—or you’ll take the consequences.”