“Well, there is one thing sure—you’ll never walk off with any medal, Codfish,” returned Randy; and at this there was a laugh, for the sneak of the school had made a poor showing on all of the targets—in fact, he was so timid that he was almost afraid to discharge his rifle.
Gabe Werner strode forward with a superior air and inspected the rifle that was handed to him critically.
“I want a gun that shoots straight,” he said.
He took a long time to shoot, sighting his rifle several times before each discharge. His first shots were fairly good, but then his nervousness asserted itself, and he all but missed the target. His total was eight points, bringing his grand total up to thirty-nine points.
“Hello, Werner’s dropped down!”
“He is one point behind Barrow and three points behind Fred Rover.”
“Say, Gabe, what happened to you? Did you get a dose of the shakes?” asked one of his followers.
“Maybe somebody moved the target on him,” suggested Andy slyly.
“Perhaps the rifle had a twist in the barrel,” announced Randy.
“Oh, say, this is none of your affair!” growled Gabe Werner, as he threw down the rifle in disgust and faced the two fun-loving Rovers. “You mind your own business!”