The lads were disgusted with themselves. On the following day the score was the same; that is, each of the two boys made center every time and so did Flink. Their only hope now was that he might make a miss, but this he evidently had no intention of doing, for he shot with rare judgment and coolness.
“I’ve got a good notion to break him up by saying something to him to-morrow,” Sam confided to his companion that night.
“I should be ashamed of you, if you did,” rebuked Dan.
“Because it would be an unsportsmanlike and a cowardly trick. If we cannot outshoot Blinkers, as you call him, we shall take our medicine like men. It seems he’s the better man at the butts.”
The last day of the target practice arrived. It was Saturday morning when the boys started out for the shooting grounds. The targets stood out strong and clear in the morning sunlight, against the big mound of earth before which they had been placed. By this time the shooting of the three boys had aroused no little interest among the others of the apprentices, and even the officers began to feel more than ordinary interest, for such shooting was not usual among the rookies in their early days.
The range had now been extended to three hundred yards. It was safe to predict that the story of the week would be changed at this range.
The firing began almost at once, the men with lower scores competing first, it having been decided to let the three leaders take their turns at the butts after the others had finished.
“Keep your eyes open,” suggested Dan. “Get your range well, for we mustn’t miss a shot to-day.”
“We’re beaten anyway,” complained Sam.