The stranger leaning on the fence immediately became very still. Dig began to grow nervous—for his friend’s sake.
“Say! let me run in and get you a proper gun, Chet,” he whispered. “I know you can kill that hawk up there; but not with that dinky little thing.”
“The first hawk I ever killed I brought down with this rifle,” muttered Chet. “And I bet I haven’t forgotten the trick— That way!”
As the hawk suddenly swooped, Chet stepped clear of the shed. He didn’t even bring the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, but fired from the hip.
There was a shriek from the bird, and with several feathers flying, the hawk sank fluttering to the ground. Digby Fordham uttered a cry of admiration.
“I declare!” exclaimed the stranger, as the boys ran across the lot to secure the still fluttering bird. “I never saw a prettier shot—and him only a kid!”
He was gone when Chet and Dig returned with the dead hawk between them, each carrying the bird by an outstretched pinion.
“You gave me the laugh, Chet!” declared Dig, with enthusiasm. “I didn’t think you could do it. Hello! where’s that fellow gone?”
The stranger had disappeared. Just then, however, Mr. Fordham rode down from the mine and the boys hurried out to show Chet’s prize and hear what news he had brought to Mr. Havens, who sat upon the front porch of the house with his wounded foot on a stool.
“Everything all right at the Silent Sue, Fordham?” Mr. Havens was asking. “I’m glad to know you’re on the job. But I’m worrying about that other matter.”