“I hope Rodney got home in safety,” said Henry, one day. “I don’t see why we don’t hear from him.”
“I wish father would send some word,” answered Dave. “I am beginning to grow anxious.”
October slipped into November, and winter was now on them in earnest. It snowed a great deal, and Fort Pitt was cut off from communication in all directions. The soldiers scarcely knew what to do with themselves, and the settlers who had gone to the stronghold for protection were also weary of the confinement.
To pass the time some of the men one day got up a shooting contest, and asked Dave and Henry to join. The youths were willing, and paid the admission fee, two shillings. The first prize was a silver mug, the second prize a fancy bullet-mold, and the third a new hunting knife.
Among the soldiers to participate in the contest were two named Gasway and Pelton. Both were beefy Englishmen, from London, who had come over the year before. Each was given to boasting, and each felt certain of winning either the first or the second prize.
“What! you boys going to compete!” cried Gasway, to Dave, disdainfully. “Sure, ’twill be good money thrown away.”
“Perhaps we’ll not do so badly,” said Dave, nettled by Gasway’s superior manner.
“The first prize will go to me and the second to my friend Pelton,” went on the English soldier. “I take it you chits will be at the end of the list.”
Left to himself, Dave sought out his cousin and told him what Gasway had said. Henry smiled grimly.
“He had better do his crowing after the shooting, not before, Dave.”