Bart Keene's Hunting Days: or, The Darewell Chums in a Winter Camp
TextCHAPTER V
AN INITIATION
Hardly appreciating Bart’s explanation, his chums set off after him. Down the moonlit street they sped, their footsteps ringing out on the frosty night. But though they could not have been far behind the man who had engaged in the shooting contest with Bart, they caught no glimpse of him.
“I guess it’s no use,” remarked the leader, pulling up as he peered down a deserted alley. “He’s given us the slip.”
“Do you really think it was the same man?” asked Fenn.
“Sure. Didn’t I have a good look at his face?”
“Yes, I know you did this time, but we didn’t have at the school the night we were hiding in the shadow. Are you sure it’s the same man?”
“Of course. I had a good look at him just as he was entering the front door of the school. The moon was as bright as it is to-night, and he had his hat pushed back. Oh, it’s the same fellow all right. Besides, didn’t he run when he found out his face had been seen? I thought there was something suspicious about him when I was shooting against him, but I couldn’t tell what it was. However, he realized that we were after him.”
“I don’t see how that can be,” spoke Frank. “He doesn’t know we’re the fellows who are accused of taking the bracelet, for he is a stranger in town. And, anyway, he doesn’t know that we saw him entering the school – that is providing it’s the same man, Bart.”
“Oh, it’s the same man all right, and I wouldn’t be surprised but that he was suspicious of us. Else why did he hurry away so quickly? I wish we could have caught him.”
“Maybe we’d better notify the police,” suggested Ned.
“No,” declared Bart. “We’ve gotten along so far without their help, and we’ll work this out alone. Besides, the minute we notify the police we’ll have to explain why we didn’t tell about the man before, and that won’t do. No, we’ll keep mum. Let’s look a little farther.”
They continued on down the main street, with short excursions into alleys and side thoroughfares, but all to no purpose. No trace of the man was to be seen, and they returned home tired from their run, and somewhat discouraged.
The chums said nothing to their folks of their experience at the gallery, though Bart’s fame as a shot spread among his school companions, and there was some speculation as to who the stranger might have been.
“Whoever he was, he’s almost as good a shot as you are, Bart,” remarked Sandy Merton. “You ought to arrange for a return match with him.”
“Perhaps I would – if I could find him,” agreed Bart.
“That’s so he did go out rather suddenly,” went on Sandy. “Do you know who he was?”
“No, I wish I did,” murmured Bart, and then he changed the subject, fearing Sandy might ask leading questions.
The police had practically given up looking for the diamond bracelet, and Professor Long made no further references to it, though it was easy to see by his manner that he had not forgotten it. An undefinable air of suspicion hung over the four chums, though Fenn, from the fact that he had not entered the school, was, more or less, exempt. But he would not have it so.
“No,” Stumpy said, “if one of us is guilty we all are – only, as a matter of fact, none of us is. We’ll find that bracelet yet, and the missing turtle, too. If not this fall or winter, we will this spring. I know a new swamp where lots of turtles are, and we’ll have a try at that some day,” he told his chums.
Meanwhile matters at school continued to fill most of the time of the chums. The Darewell institution was a large one, and, of late, a number of secret societies had been formed among the junior and senior students. Sandy Merton was president of one of the junior organizations, known as the “Shamma Shig,” in comic reference to some of the college Greek letter fraternities.
“Why don’t you fellows join our society?” Sandy asked Bart and his chums, one day.
“I’m afraid we’d be ballotted against, and it would spoil our good records,” answered Fenn.
“Get out!” exclaimed Sandy, good-naturedly. “Come on, let me propose your names. We want a bigger membership, and I can guarantee that you’ll get through all right.”
“What about the initiation?” asked Frank. “Some we’ve been through have been pretty stiff.”
“Well, we don’t claim to have the easiest rites in the school, but they’re not so fierce,” replied the president proudly. “I can tip the fellows off, and we can make an exception in your cases, if you like, only – ”
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Bart, quickly. “We’ll take all that’s coming to us – that is if we join. We’ll think about it.”
The chums talked matters over among themselves that night, and came to the conclusion that it would be a good plan to join the “Shamma Shigs.”
“All right, then, we’ll do it,” concluded Bart. “I’ll let Sandy know, and he can get the goat ready for us to ride.”
The initiation took place three days later, in the afternoon, and was held before a “crowded house” in the barn owned by Sandy’s uncle.
“Here are four worthy and gentle knights, who seek admission to our ranks,” announced Sandy, who was disguised with a sheet, all splashed over with red paint, to represent blood. He had a hickory nut in his mouth, to make his voice sound deep and hoarse, and was supported on either side by one lad in a purple sheet, and another one in yellow, the trio forming the “Mystic Three.”
Bart, Fenn and the others were put through some strenuous exercises, including the riding of a “goat” which was a saw-horse, with knots and bumps of wood nailed here and there on it, to represent bones. They were dipped into the rain-water barrel by means of a rope and pulley, and they were cast from “the terrible height into the awful chasm,” which ordeal consisted merely in being pushed down a space of about three feet, upon some hay, but being blindfolded was supposed to make up for the difference.
Then they had to climb a steep “mountain” which was an old horse tread-mill, geared up unusually high, and finally had to “drink the terrible cup,” which was supposed to be some horrible mixture, but which was really only molasses, ginger and water.
“Now for the final test,” proposed Sandy, to the four. “Are ye ready for the last act, or are ye timid and do ye shrink back from the terrible danger that confronts ye? If so, speak, an’ ye shall be allowed to depart in peace. But, if ye would brave the awful dangers and gloom of the bottomless pit, say the word, an’ then shall ye be true knights of the Shamma Shigs.”
“Go ahead, we’re ready,” replied Bart, irreverently.
“Let her flicker,” added Ned.
“’Tis well – blindfold them,” ordered Sandy, giving his red-spotted robe a shake.
“What, again?” asked Frank.
Sandy did not answer, but thick bandages were put over the eyes of the candidates. Then from sounds that took place in the barn they knew that a horse was being hitched up.
“We’re going to have a ride,” observed Fenn.
“Quiet, Stumpy,” cautioned Bart, in a whisper. “Keep still, and let’s see if we can catch on to what they’re doing.”
A little later their hands and feet were bound, and the candidates were put into a large wagon, and the drive began. It lasted for some time, and, try as they did, Bart and his chums could not imagine in which direction they were being taken. But, as they were familiar with the country for several miles in any point of the compass from Darewell, they were not worried.
“Halt!” Sandy finally ordered, and the creaking, jolting wagon came to a stop.
“Ye have one more chance, candidates,” went on the president, as he touched the foreheads of the four with something cold and clammy – a hand, from the feel of it, but it was only a rubber glove, filled with cracked ice. “One more chance ere ye dare the dangers of the bottomless pit,” went on Sandy. “Wilt withdraw?”
“Naw, let her go,” replied Fenn nonchalantly.
“’Tis well. The bottomless pit awaits ye,” threatened Sandy, and then, one at a time, the four were carefully lowered over the side of the wagon, down into some depths, as they supposed, but in reality only a short distance, so strangely are distances rendered when one is blindfolded.
“Ye are now in the pit, whence there is no escape,” went on Sandy, “but, if ye are true knights, and no craven cowards ye will come to no harm. In one hour’s time we shall release ye. Bide here until we return.”
His voice sounded faint and far away, but it was only because he was speaking into a pasteboard box he had brought along for that purpose. Then the sound of the wagon departing was heard, and the four chums were left, sitting they knew not where, with their hands and feet tied, and their eyes bandaged.
CHAPTER VI
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
“Well,” remarked Fenn, after a somewhat long pause, “I don’t know how you fellows feel about it, but I think they’ve rather put it all over us; eh Bart?”
“Somewhat,” admitted the leader of the Darewell Chums. “But it isn’t so bad as I expected. I wonder where we are, anyhow?”
“Might be ten miles away,” observed Frank.
“I’ll wager we’re not more than half a mile from home,” came from Ned. “They drove roundabout to fool us.”
“That’s what I think,” remarked Bart. “Anyhow we’ve got to stay here an hour, and I don’t much fancy it, either. But since we’ve gone this far we might as well go the whole distance, I suppose. It’s a good thing it’s comparatively warm, or it wouldn’t be any fun staying here. Where are we, anyhow.”
“I’m going to find out!” declared Fenn suddenly.
“How, Stumpy?” asked Frank.
“I’ve almost got one hand loose. I’ll soon have it out, and then I’m going to take off this bandage. There’s no use of us staying here like a lot of chickens tied up, when we can just as well get away.”
“That’s the trouble – we can’t get away,” came from Frank. “I’ve been trying for the last ten minutes to loosen these cords, but I can’t slip a single knot. They knew how to tie ’em all right.”
“You just watch me,” called Fenn, who was squirming about on a bed of leaves.
“Watch you – yes, with our eyes bandaged,” said Ned, sarcastically. “That’s a hot one.”
“Patience, noble knight,” mocked the stout lad, “and I’ll soon release ye.”
“Stumpy is so fat that they didn’t have rope enough to tie him,” remarked Bart. “That’s the reason he thinks he can get loose.”
“I don’t think it, I know it!” cried Fenn in triumph a few seconds afterward. “I’ve got both hands out, and now here comes off my bandage.”
A moment later Fenn uttered a cry.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bart, making an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the ropes binding his arms and legs.
“Why we’re in Oak Swamp, or, right on the edge of it,” replied Fenn. “They brought us farther than I thought they did. But we’ll fool ’em all right. We’ll get loose, skip out, and when they come back they won’t find us. Wait until I get these ropes off my legs, and I’ll help you fellows.”
Fenn was as good as his word. A few seconds later he was free from his bonds, and, in turn, he released Bart, Frank and Ned. They all looked around in some surprise, for they had no idea that they had been brought so far from home. The wagon had traveled faster than they had suspected.
“Oak Swamp,” mused Bart. “It’s a good thing it’s coming on winter instead of summer, or we’d be eaten up with mosquitoes. Well, let’s get out of here. I don’t like the place.”
Indeed it was gloomy and dismal enough at any time, but now, on a late fall evening, with darkness fast approaching, it was anything but an inviting place. The swamp derived its name from a number of scrub oak trees that grew in it. During the summer it was a treacherous place to visit, for there were deep muck holes scattered through it, and more than one cow, and several horses, had broken out of the pastures, and wandered into the wet place, only to sink down to their deaths. It was said that several years before a man had endeavored to cross the swamp, had been caught in a bog hole, and sucked down into its depths, his body never having been recovered.
So it was with a feeling of no little satisfaction that Bart and his chums found themselves able to leave the gloomy place sooner than they had expected.
“It’ll be a good joke on the others,” remarked Ned, as he gathered into a heap, the rope fetters that had bound him. “We’ll sneak away, and when those fellows come back for us they’ll think we’ve rolled into the swamp, and sunk, and they may make a search for us. Let’s hide the cords and bandages.”
“Sure,” agreed Frank. “We’ll turn the tables on them.”
“Well, whatever we do, let’s get away from here,” suggested Fenn. “It’s too gloomy for my notion. Look, there’s the ledge they lowered us from. It isn’t two feet high, but it seemed like a hundred,” and he pointed to a small ledge of rock, where Sandy Merton and his mates had stood as they lowered from the wagon the lads who were being initiated. Had it not been that Sandy stood on the end of the vehicle, he would not have been high enough to bring about the delusion of the boys going down into some bottomless pit.
The four chums had gathered up the severed ropes, and, folding the bandages up in them, hid them all under a big stone. Then they started for home.
Oak Swamp was several miles from the town of Darewell, but there was a fairly good road between the places, since the swamp was but slightly off to one side of the main thoroughfare. As the four started off, with Fenn in the lead, they chuckled to think of the blank looks of the initiating team, when the members should return for the candidates, to find them missing.
“I almost wish we could stay, and hide, and hear what they’ll say,” observed Ned, laughing at the prospect.
“I don’t. I want to get home,” came from Frank. “Ugh! This is a gloomy place after dark.”
Suddenly Fenn, who was some distance in the lead, jumped to one side.
“What’s the matter; see a snake?” called Bart.
“A snake, this time of year? Not much, but it’s a whopping big mud turtle,” cried the fleshy lad. “I’m going to catch it, fellows. Maybe it’s the one that got away from Professor Long’s collection. That’s the only way I can account for a turtle being out of doors at this season of the year.”
“And while you’re at it look and see if it hasn’t got a diamond bracelet on its neck, and a wedding ring on its toes, Stumpy,” advised Bart, mockingly. “If it has, it’ll be all to the mustard, and we’ll be cleared of suspicion. Look and see if it has its teeth filled with gold, while you’re about it, but, above all, don’t forget the diamond bracelet.”
“Aw, let up, can’t you?” begged Stumpy. “What’s the use of poking fun at a fellow all the while, just because I made one break. Besides a turtle might get its neck through the bracelet.”
“Oh rats!” was Bart’s reply. “But catch the turtle, if you’re going to.”
Fenn made a grab for the slow moving reptile, and caught it. He examined it carefully in the fast-fading light.
“Well, pick off the diamond bracelet; why don’t you?” asked Bart, chuckling at his joke.
“Dry up!” advised Fenn, still looking at the turtle.
“Chuck it away, and come on,” suggested Ned.
“Chuck it away? I will not!” retorted Fenn indignantly. “This is a rare kind of turtle, it must have been dug up out of its winter hole by some one. I’m going to keep it for my collection.”
“What? Haven’t you given that up by this time?” asked Bart. “I supposed that you’d be gathering specimens of snowflakes, or samples of dog biscuit by this time,” for he knew Fenn’s failing, and a month, at most, was the period devoted to any new fad. But this time Fenn seemed more in earnest.
“No, I’m going to keep this,” went on the amateur collector. “It’s a good one. I shouldn’t be surprised but what Professor Long would be glad to get it for his collection,” and Fenn gazed admiringly at the turtle.
“Here’s another,” announced Frank suddenly. “And there is a third one,” and he pointed to two more of the reptiles crawling sluggishly along.
Fenn ran over and examined them, but he took care not to lose his first specimen.
“They’re a common variety,” he declared. “I don’t want ’em for my collection, and Professor Long has several like them.”
“And neither one wears a diamond bracelet – how sad,” chimed in Bart, laughingly.
“That’s all right – make fun if you want to,” said Fenn, a bit sharply, “but it’s no joke to be under the disgrace of the implied accusation that we stole the bracelet.”
“I know it,” agreed Bart soberly, “but looking for mud turtles that might possibly have it on their necks isn’t going to help matters any. We might much better look for the man who was in the school just before we were. If any one took it, he did – not some turtle.”
“Oh, it’s possible that a turtle did poke its head and neck through the bracelet when it was in the cabinet,” said Ned, “but, of course, it’s out of the question to think that we can find that turtle, or, for that matter, that the bracelet would remain on the turtle’s neck.”
“Guess you’re right,” admitted Stumpy. “Well, I’ve got a good turtle for my collection, anyhow.”
“Isn’t it funny so many of ’em are out to-day?” asked Ned, as the four walked on, Fenn carefully carrying his prize. “It’s so near winter I should think they’d be going to sleep, like a bear, in a hollow log, if they do sleep in logs.”
“Oh, they curl up and go to sleep in some warm place for the winter,” declared Fenn, who considered himself a sort of authority on the reptiles. “But the reason so many are out to-day is because it has suddenly turned warmer. They’ll soon be going into permanent winter quarters though. But come on, it’s getting dark. Let’s get a move on.”
“I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d have snow,” observed Bart, casting a look at the clouds. “It’s about time.”
“I wish it would,” said Ned, “or else that we’d have skating. But what about going camping, Bart? Have you thought any more about it?”
“Yes, and I think I can arrange so we can go. I feel just like going off in the woods with our guns.”
“To hunt mud turtles with diamond bracelets,” put in Frank, with a laugh.
“Yes, mud turtles or anything else that comes our way,” went on Bart. “Yes, I think we’ll have a winter camp this season, and if we do – ” He stopped suddenly, and appeared to be looking at some object just ahead in the woods, for the boys were now out of the swamp proper. Bart’s chums followed his gaze.
“There’s a man,” observed Fenn, in a low voice.
“Yes, and he seems to be looking for something,” remarked Bart, guardedly. “He’s poking away the leaves with a stick. Look at him.”
The man was, as yet, not aware of the presence of the boys. He was walking slowly along, with his head bent over, as if eagerly scanning the ground. Now and then he poked away the dead leaves with his stick. A moment later, as the four chums could see in the little light that lingered after an early sunset, the man stooped over, and picked up something.
“A turtle! He’s looking for mud turtles!” gasped Fenn, for it could be seen that the man had picked up one of the reptiles that seemed to be unusually numerous that day. Unconsciously Fenn had spoken louder than he intended, and the man heard him. He turned quickly, gave one startled look at the boys, appearing ill at ease at the unexpected meeting, and then, wheeling around, he made off through the woods, soon being lost to sight amid the trees.
“He took the turtle with him!” exclaimed Fenn. “He must be collecting them, too!”
“Yes, and did you notice who he was?” asked Bart, who appeared to be laboring under some excitement.
“No. Who?” gasped Ned.
“The mysterious stranger who entered the school just before we did – the man who shot against me at the gallery! Fellows, it’s the same man – we must catch him!” and, as he had done that night in the shooting gallery, Bart darted after the stranger, followed by his chums, Fenn still carrying the turtle.
CHAPTER VII
GETTING READY FOR CAMP
“Come on, fellows!” exclaimed Bart, as he stumbled on ahead. “We mustn’t lose sight of him again! There’s some mystery about that man. I believe he stole the diamond bracelet.”
Slipping, and almost tripping over sticks, fallen trees, stumps and stones, the chums hurried on. But the man had a number of advantages. He had a start of several hundred feet, darkness was coming on, and he evidently knew the paths through the woods better than did the boys, for when they caught occasional glimpses of him he appeared to be running at full speed, whereas they had to go slowly, and pick their way.
At last they could see him no more, and, as it seemed to grow rapidly darker, the boys were forced to give up the chase.
“Well, wouldn’t that get on your nerves?” Bart demanded of his chums, as they stopped for breath. “That’s the third time we’ve seen that man, and the second time he’s gotten away.”
“The next time he sees us he’ll know enough to run without waiting to take a second look at us,” observed Frank, grimly.
There was little use lingering longer in the woods, the chums decided, so, after a last look about, hoping for a sight of the mysterious stranger, they once more started for home. It was quite dark as they got out on the main highway, and to their great delight they saw approaching Jed Sneed, a teamster whom they knew. He readily consented to give them a ride back to town.
As they were nearing the centre of Darewell Ned exclaimed:
“By jove, I believe it’s snowing! I felt a flake on my face.”
“You’re right,” added Bart, a moment later. “It is snowing,” and a little flurry of white flakes confirmed his words.
“Yes, and I don’t like to see it,” remarked Jed, the teamster, as he cracked his whip, to hasten the pace of his horses.
“Why not?” asked Frank.
“Because it’s a sign we’re going to have a long, hard winter,” went on the man, who was rather an odd character, and a great believer in signs of various kinds. “It’s a sure sign of a hard winter when it snows just before the new moon,” Jed went on. “It’ll be new moon to-night, and we’re going to have quite a storm. Besides it’s down in my almanack that we’re going to have a bad spell of weather about now. I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d have quite a fall before morning,” and certainly it seemed so, for the flurry was increasing.
“Sandy and those fellows will have lots of fun hunting for us,” remarked Ned with a chuckle. “They’ll think we’ve been snowed under.”
“I see Sandy Merton, and two or three lads in a wagon, just before I met you chaps,” observed Jed. “They asked me if I’d met you, but I hadn’t – up to then. What’s up? Been playing jokes on each other?”
“They tried one on us, but I think it’s on them,” said Bart. “Well, here’s where I get off, fellows. Come over to-night, and we’ll have a talk,” and Bart was about to descend from the wagon, as his street was reached first.
“Hold on! Wait a minute! Don’t get down on that side!” cried Jed, earnestly.
“What’s the matter; is the step on this side broken?” asked Bart, in some alarm, as he hastily checked himself.
“No, but you started to get down with your left foot first,” explained the teamster. “That’s sure to bring the worst kind of bad luck on a fellow. My team might run away before I get two blocks further. It’s a bad sign to get out with your left foot first. Don’t do it.”
“Oh, Jed, you’re a regular old woman!” exclaimed Bart good-naturedly, for he and his chums were on familiar terms with the teamster. Nevertheless the lad did as requested, and changed his position, so as to leave the wagon in accordance with the superstitious notions of Jed.
“That’s better,” remarked the man, with an air of relief, as Bart descended. “Yes,” he added, as he drove on, “we’re going to have quite a storm.”
He was right, for that night the ground was covered with the white flakes, but the thermometer did not get down very low.
After supper Bart’s three chums called on him, and, a little later they received an unexpected visit from Sandy Merton and some of his friends. The latter were much worried when they had gone back to Oak Swamp, and had failed to find a sign of the candidates whom they had initiated into the “Shamma Shig” society.
“Say, that’s a nice trick to play on a fellow,” declared Sandy, indignantly, when he found that Bart and his friends were safe and snug at home. “We’ve been hunting all around that swamp in the dark for you, and we’re all wet and muddy. Why didn’t you stay there?”
“Didn’t think it was healthy,” observed Bart, with a chuckle. “You told us you wouldn’t be back for an hour, so we concluded to leave. You should tie your ropes better, Sandy.”
“We weren’t going to leave you there an hour,” went on the president of the secret society. “That was only a joke on you.”
“Well, our coming away was only a joke on you,” declared Ned with a grin. “Are we full-fledged members now, Sandy?”
“I suppose so,” was the somewhat ungracious answer. Then as Sandy’s chums declared that the manner in which they had been outwitted by the four chums was perfectly fair, it was agreed to call the incident closed, and consider the initiation finished.
“You’re now regular members,” declared Sandy, “and you can come to the meeting to-night, if you want to.”
The chums went to a “hall” that had been fitted up over the barn of Sandy’s uncle. It had all the features of a regular secret society meeting room, with inner and outer sentinels, a hole cut in the door, through which doubtful visitors could be scrutinized; and once inside a more or less blood-curdling ritual was gone through with. But the boys enjoyed it, and, his good nature restored by presiding at the function, Sandy told how he and his friends had been much alarmed at finding Bart and his companions missing, and how they had searched in vain for them.
A thaw, a few days after the storm, removed most of the snow, but it remained long enough for some coasting, in which our heroes took part. Meanwhile they had made some guarded inquiries regarding the mysterious man, but had learned nothing. No one else seemed to have observed him, or, if they had, they thought nothing of it.
Nor was any trace found of the missing diamond bracelet. The police had practically given up work on the case, but the boys had not. They felt the stigma that still attached to them, and they resolved, if it was at all possible, to remove it. The parents of the lads were somewhat indignant that there should be even a suspicion against them, but there seemed to be no help for it, and Mr. Long, thinking to better matters, offered a reward for the return of the property. But he had no answers.
“Well, Bart, what about camp?” asked Ned, one cold morning in December, when an overcast sky gave promise of more snow.
“I was just thinking it was time we got down to business about it,” was the reply. “I’m ready to go, if you fellows are. I’ve spoken to my folks, and they’re willing I should take two weeks out of school, besides the regular Christmas holidays. There’s not much doing the week before that vacation, and not much the one after. That will give us nearly a month – the last half of December and the first half of January.”
“Good idea,” commented Frank. “I’m sure I can go. Dad is going west to visit some relatives, and, as I don’t care about making the trip, I’m sure he’ll let me go to a winter camp.”
“I haven’t asked yet, but I’m sure I can go,” said Fenn, and Ned was also hopeful.
“Well, suppose we go down to my house after school, and look over our camping stuff,” suggested Bart, for the tents, stoves and other paraphernalia was kept in his barn. The boys had gone camping several times before, both winter and summer, and had a very complete outfit, as is known to those who have perused the other volumes of this series.
Bart’s idea met with favor and, when lessons for the day were over, the four chums were overhauling cots, inspecting the big tent and seeing if the portable stove was in good condition. It was a dark, lowering afternoon, and, since morning, the promise of more snow had been added to by several flurries of the white flakes.
“Well, everything seems to be in good shape,” observed Bart at length. “We’ve got about two more weeks of school, and then we’ll cut it, and hike for the woods. We must look up a good place, and you and Stumpy had better find out for sure if you can go, Ned.”
“We will,” they promised.
“All right, then come on out, and let’s try a few shots,” went on Bart. “I’ve got some new cartridges, with smokeless powder, and I want to see how they work.”
A little later the four chums were ready to take turns with two rifles Bart owned. The target was set up in the deserted orchard, and the fun began.
Bart was easily the best shot of the four, and this was so soon demonstrated that he consented to take his aim in difficult positions, such as firing with his back to the target, using a mirror to sight with. He did other “stunts” which, I have no doubt, some of my readers have seen done in “Wild West” shows, or on the stage.
“There’s no use talking, Bart,” observed Ned, “you can put it all over us when it comes to handling a rifle.”
“Well, I’ve had more practice,” said Bart modestly. “You fellows will do as good when you’ve had more experience.”
“I’m afraid not,” spoke Fenn, with a sigh. “Here, see if I can hit that tin can on the fence post.”
He raised the weapon, sighted it carefully, and pulled the trigger. There was no smoke, for the powder was of the self-consuming type, but a bright sliver of flame shot from the muzzle of the gun, plainly visible in the fast-gathering darkness. The can was not touched, but, an instant after Fenn fired, some one beyond the fence set up a great shouting.
“Great Caesar, Stumpy, you’ve shot some one!” gasped Bart.
Poor Fenn turned a sickly color, and the rifle fell from his nerveless hands. The shouts continued, and there was a commotion in the bushes.
A little later Alice Keene, with her hands full of bandages, and carrying a small medicine chest, rushed from the house and past the group of terror-stricken lads toward the fence, whence the yells continued to come.
“Oh!” cried the girl. “I was afraid some one would get hurt when you boys used those horrid guns! You had better telephone for a doctor, Bart, while I go see if I can stop the bleeding! Who is hurt?”