“No fluke about those bulls-eyes,” he declared. “You are a natural-born marksman. You’ve the quick, sure eye.”
“It’s his pitching that does it,” enthused Ted, as happy at his brother’s remarkable showing as though it had been himself. “Phil was the star pitcher of the Interscholastic League, you know.”
“That may have developed his eye, but he’s a natural-born marksman just the same. Now let’s see what you can do, Ted. Are you a pitcher, too?”
“No, I’m not,” replied the boy, as he squinted along the rifle barrel.
“He’s going to build an airship when we get E 1 cleared,” laughed Phil.
The younger boy made a sorry showing, however, not scoring a hit though he emptied his magazine, and he had no better success with his 44.
“Never mind, practice will develop your eye,” consoled Andy. “And now we’ll get supper.”
As night advanced, the woods seemed to awaken. Owls hooted, twigs snapped as night-prowling animals travelled about, and now and then the cry of a mountain lion sounded in the distance.
“I shan’t dare shut my eyes tonight,” exclaimed the younger boy.
“Nonsense!” returned their companion. “The fire will keep everything away. Don’t think about the noises, just put your mind on the pleasantest thing you can conceive and forget that you are in the real woods.”