"You didn't get mud or anything of that kind in the muzzle?" Merriwell questioned, anxiously examining the ruined weapon. "That will sometimes make a gun explode."
"None whatever!" Badger grumbled, nursing his numbed hand and arm, while a crowd gathered round him and Merriwell, asking excited and eager questions. "Do you think I'm fool enough to do a thing like that?"
Frank plucked at Rattleton's arm.
"Take charge of that box of shells," he said, in an undertone. "Don't let any one touch them. The box from which I took the shells for Badger! I'm afraid the shells in it have been tampered with."
"Agnew!" Rattleton gasped. "He's somewhere on the grounds, you know, and he was right up here awhile ago!"
"I don't know. It may be. We can tell better later. Just now, take charge of that box. No more shells must be used out of it, nor out of any others of mine."
"All right!" Rattleton promised, and moved quickly away.
"How is your hand and arm?" Merriwell asked, again addressing Badger.
"Well, I allow it's good enough to do some more shooting!" Badger snarled, giving Hodge a suspicious glance. "You didn't beat me! I missed that bird; but the gun blew up was the reason. I'll shoot you those two, yet; but I'd rather try you ten birds straight—ten double rises, just the kind we were shooting at. I reckon we'd better settle this thing square!"
There was something very unpleasant in his tone and manner. Hodge saw the glance, heard the words, and could hardly resist the temptation to walk up and knock him down.