The contest grew hotter and hotter. The club scores—the average scores of the combined membership of each club—ran very evenly, and as the shoot drew toward its close, the count of the club scores showed five in favor of the boys of Lake Lily, with Ward Hammond’s score three more than Merriwell’s, and the best that had been made.
“Don’t l’ave him bate yez, Merry, me b’y!” Barney Mulloy whispered.
“You may be sure I’ll do my best, Barney,” responded Merriwell, compressing his lips as he stepped again to the line and took up the bow.
“Seven—in the red!” cried the marker.
Then, as Ward Hammond followed:
“Nine—in the gold!”
There were only three more rounds, twenty-one of the twenty-four rounds of the contest having been shot.
“Here are the leading scores, as revised after that last shoot,” announced the youth who kept the score card, reading from the card, while the excited and anxious lads gathered closely about him. “Ward Hammond, 145; Frank Merriwell, 140.”
The Blue Mountain boys swung their caps and sent up a cheer of delight.
Again Frank faced the target and let his arrow fly.