“He did,” admitted Hippy, “and Stacy Brown missed a fine fat meal. Laugh at me all you like, folks. I deserve it, but I don’t understand how I could miss that shot.”
“Don’t wolly till to-mollow,” advised the guide wisely.
“May I look at your rifle?” asked Grace.
Lieutenant Wingate handed it to her and Grace gave it a critical inspection, then held it out to Hippy.
“Look it over carefully. I think you will discover why you missed,” she suggested.
Hippy intuitively glanced at the sights, and shot a quick look of inquiry at Chunky, but Chunky’s face was woodeny in its lack of expression. Without another word, Lieutenant Wingate set up a mark, placed his rifle on the rock, marking its exact position, and, taking careful aim, fired. The bullet shot under by more than a foot, whereas it should have shot over the mark, the rifle being originally sighted for a much longer distance. Several cartridges were expended in resighting the weapon and adjusting the open sight, which he found had been changed from its former position.
“There, now! Show me another deer. I don’t believe I shall miss the next one.”
“You savvy sight no good,” chuckled the Chinaman.
Lieutenant Wingate nodded.
“Stacy, come here. I would hold converse with thee,” he ordered.