It was a thrilling moment, and any boy would have been excited. Don was. He felt his heart thump and his face flush, as he stepped up to the firing-line. Turning for an instant he saw Dorry looking at him proudly, and as she caught his glance, she gave her head a saucy, confident little toss as if sure that he would not miss.
"Ay! ay! Dot," said Don under his breath; and, reassured by her confidence, he calmly raised the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim.
It seemed an age to the spectators before the report broke upon the sudden hush of expectation. Then, those who were watching Don saw him bend his head forward with a quick motion, and for a second peer anxiously at the target. Then he drew back carelessly, but with a satisfaction that he could not quite conceal.
A few moments later, the excited Reds came running up, wildly waving Don's target in their arms. His last bullet had been the finest shot of the day, having struck the very centre of the bull's-eye. Even Ben cheered. The Reds had won. Donald was the acknowledged champion of the club.
But it was trying to three of the Reds, and to the Blues worse than the pangs of defeat, to see that pretty Josie Manning pin the little golden rifle on the lapel of Donald's coat.
Little he thought, amid the cheering and the merry breaking-up that followed, how soon his steadiness of hand would be taxed in earnest!
Mr. Reed, after pleasantly congratulating the winning side and complimenting the Blues upon being so hard to conquer, walked quickly homeward in earnest conversation with Sailor Jack.