“Bravo! Henri,” said Major Hope as he passed; “you deserve to win, anyhow. Who’s next?”
“Dick Varley,” cried several voices; “where’s Varley? Come on, youngster, an’ take yer shot.”
The youth came forward with evident reluctance. “It’s of no manner o’ use,” he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, “I can’t depend on my old gun.”
“Never give in,” whispered Blunt encouragingly. Poor Varley’s want of confidence in his rifle was merited, for, on pulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire.
“Lend him another gun,” cried several voices. “’Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope,” said Scraggs.
“Well, so it is; try again.”
Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge.
Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began as to which was the better shot of the two.
“There are others to shoot yet,” cried the major. “Make way. Look out.”
The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took their shots, but without coming nearer the mark.