“Here’s one that ought to suit you, Bart,” remarked the man in charge, who was well known to the boys. “It’s well balanced. Try that small target.”
“No, I want something moving, Clayton,” replied Bart. “Start off the birds and beasts.”
These were small images of birds and squirrels that moved around on a sort of endless chain arrangement. Clayton, the man in charge of the gallery, set the machinery in motion, and the painted effigies began to go around. Bart raised the rifle—a repeater—to his shoulder, took quick aim, and fired. A bird was knocked over, then a squirrel went down, and, in rapid succession he repeated this until he had fifteen hits to his credit, out of a possible sixteen.
“Fine!” cried Ned, enviously.
“I should have had ’em all,” announced Bart with a shake of his head. “Here, some of you fellows try.”
They did, but could not do nearly as good as had Bart. Then Bart contented himself with making bullseyes at a stationary target, though Frank and Ned made another effort to equal Bart’s record with the moving objects. Frank came the nearest with ten.
“Now I’ll try for sixteen out of sixteen,” announced Bart, as Clayton reloaded the weapon for him.
By this time a crowd had gathered in the gallery, which, being a new amusement resort in town, was quite an attraction. Bart paid no attention to the spectators grouped back of him, but, with the coolness a veteran shot might envy, he began.
Report after report rang out, and at each burst of flame and puff of smoke a bird or a squirrel toppled over, until fifteen straight had gone down.
“That’s the stuff!” cried one man, enthusiastically, as Bart was about to make his last shot.