"Crack!" went Don's rifle, and the bull's-eye winked in response. A perfect shot!
"Crack!" went Ed's, beginning a fresh round, and his bull's-eye didn't wink. The second ring, however, showed the bullet's track.
"Crack!" The next Red left his edge-dot on the target, as usual.
"Crack!" went Outcalt's rifle, and the rim of the bull's-eye felt it.
Will Burrough's bullet went straight to the left edge of the centre.
Hart, the third Blue, sent a shot between targets, clean into the earth-wall.
"Crack!" went the next Red. Poor Henderson! His target made no sign.
Ben Buster, the Blue, now put in his third centre shot. He was doing magnificently.
In this round, and in the next, Donald hit the centre, but it was plain that his skill alone would not avail to win the match, unless his comrades should "brace up," and better their shots; so he tried a little generalship. He urged each of the three in turn not to watch the score of the enemy at all, nor to regard the cheers of the Blues, but to give attention solely to making his own score as high as possible. This advice helped them, and soon the Reds once more were slightly ahead of the Blues, but the advantage was not sufficient to insure them a victory. As the final rounds drew near, the interest became intense. Each marksman was the object of all eyes, as he stepped up to the firing-line, and the heat of the contest caused some wild shooting; yet the misses were so evenly divided between the two companies that the score remained almost a tie.
Ed Tyler advanced to the firing-line. His shot gave the Blues' score a lift.