"You can trust Mr. Poole to make out the blackest kind of a case against me," answered Dave, bitterly. "He has been down on me for years, and you know how Nat is down on me, too. He'll have me sent to prison, if he can!"
"We'll stand by you," said Phil. "We know you didn't shoot at him—or at anybody."
"I think I had better tell my father about this," went on Dave. All his interest in target-shooting had ended. "He will know what is best to do."
"We'll leave the target where it is," said Roger. "Then we can explain just how the thing occurred."
With downcast heart Dave left the field and approached the mansion, and his chums went with him. Just as they reached the piazza, the door opened and Laura came out, accompanied by Jessie Wadsworth.
"Oh, are you coming back?" asked Laura. "We were just going to join you."
"Maybe you've killed the bear!" cried Jessie, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I heard that Phil had manufactured one."
"No," answered Dave. "We—that is. I—had some trouble with Mr. Poole." He turned to his sister. "Where is father?"
"Gone out of town on business. He'll be back this evening."
"And Uncle Dunston?"