“I hope I am in time for the shooting,” he declared. “My uncle sent me up to apologize for the chapter of accidents that occurred last night in our coon hunt. Gwendolin Morton is laid up with a bad ankle, Franz Heller has influenza, and everyone else is tired out with the long tramp. But you look entirely rested.” He turned to Barbara and spoke under his breath. “Forgive me for last night’s performance.”
“Come, Naki,” called Ruth to their guide, “we are ready for our target practice. Mr. Latham is here.”
Ruth led the way over the hill. At a little distance from the house Naki set up a pasteboard target, which he nailed to the side of a big cedar tree, at the edge of a slight embankment. Below it was nothing but underbrush. No one was near. It seemed a perfectly safe place for the rifle practice.
Mollie sat on the ground back of the eager sportsmen. Nothing could induce her to handle a gun. “I suppose I am safe, back here,” she laughed, “so, I shall sit here and watch this famous shooting match. Only, for goodness’ sake, all of you be careful!”
Bab, Ruth and Grace were each to have ten shots at the target, Naki showing them how to load and fire. Reginald Latham would keep the score. The girl who hit the bull’s eye the greatest number of times was to be proclaimed champion.
Bab fired first. She hit the second ring from the center of the bull’s eye.
“Good for you!” Ruth cried, taking aim. But she missed the target altogether. The shot from her rifle went down the hill.
Mollie thought she saw something stir. “Isn’t this a dangerous business?” she asked Reginald Latham.
“There is nothing in these woods to harm, Miss Mollie,” he explained. “Most of the birds have already flown away.”
For an hour the girls fired at the target. Grace had grown tired and had taken her seat by Mollie, but Ruth and Barbara were both enthusiastic shots. Ruth’s score stood two ahead of Bab’s, who still had three more shots to fire.