Buck Badger came upon the ground, but without a gun. He was alone, too, and he kept away from Merriwell's crowd. He had not learned to like Merriwell's friends, any of them, and he detested Hodge.
Having taken his gun from its case, Merriwell put it together, and opened a box of loaded shells, which he placed on the ground. The gun was a beautiful twelve-gage hammerless, of late design and American manufacture, bored for trap shooting. Hodge's gun was so nearly like it that they could scarcely be told apart.
Morton Agnew and Donald Pike came on the grounds before the shooting began. Merriwell observed that Badger affected not to notice them, but the Westerner was plainly annoyed.
"Perhaps you would like to shoot!" said Merriwell, going over to Badger with his gun. "I can let you have the use of my gun. Hodge has one just like it, and all our other fellows have good guns. So, if you'd like to shoot! It's all right, and as good as they make them."
The Kansan was plainly pleased.
"And I can let you have shells."
"I'll take the gun, Merriwell," he said, balancing it in his hands and looking it over. "But I can't let you furnish shells, when I can buy all I want right here on the grounds. And there is no reason why you can't shoot with it, too."
"None at all, old man, only I thought likely you wouldn't want to mix in with our crowd. I can shoot Bart's gun."
Badger flushed and his face darkened. He was on the point of saying something bitter against Hodge.
"I didn't intend to shoot when I came out," he said, choking down the angry utterance, "or I should have brought a gun. In fact, I didn't start for this place at all. But I'm here now, and I reckon my fingers would never get done itching if I couldn't get to pull a trigger. I used to shoot some on the ranch, you know, and I hope I haven't lost anything whatever of the knack. If I should beat your score now?"