“We are going to shoot to-morrow,” whispered Sam in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard a dozen yards away.
“Shoot what?”
“Target work.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yes,” chuckled Hickey. “We won’t do a thing to the targets, will we?”
“I don’t know about you, but as for myself I never thought I was much of a marksman. Of course, I have done some shooting, but there are boys here who have done much more, I guess. What’s the range?”
“I haven’t heard. But, being an officer, perhaps I might ask some one.”
“Do not presume too much on your promotion,” warned Dan. “You are only a very little officer. You may lose that rating if you are not careful.”
“Then I’ll get struck by lightning again, and get another one,” answered Sam confidently.
That night the boys swung themselves up into their hammocks, full of anticipation of what lay before them on the following day. It seemed as if they had no sooner gotten to sleep than the bugle sounded the reveille.