Frank Merriwell's Reward

by Burt L. Standish

"I can hit you!" Bink growled, lunging at him.

"I meant anything small!" said Bruce, brushing aside Bink's blow as if it had been a fly. "Shoo! Don't bother me, or I may get one of these shells stuck."

A trap was sprung, and Danny blazed away.

"Missed!" said Dismal.

"And Danny is our crack shot!" moaned Bink. "The papers will say to-night that our shooting was like a lot of schoolgirls."

"How?" asked Merriwell.

"All misses! Yah! Watch me smash one of those blackbirds into dust."

Bink went forward with much seeming confidence—and missed, too.

"Of course I didn't want to take away all the courage of you fellows by hitting the first bird," he blandly explained. "But I could have done it."

The conditions for shooting were fair, for the wind was not so strong as it had been earlier in the day. Several shots were made, together with a number of hits. Then Buck Badger's name was called, and he went up to the line with Merriwell's gun. One of the boys who was manipulating the traps sprung the middle one, and the bird shot swiftly off to the right. It was a rather difficult target, but Badger knocked the clay bird into dust.