Bart Keene's Hunting Days: or, The Darewell Chums in a Winter Camp. Chapman Allen

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СКАЧАТЬ Bart paid no attention to the spectators grouped back of him, but, with the coolness a veteran shot might envy, he began.

      Report after report rang out, and at each burst of flame and puff of smoke a bird or a squirrel toppled over, until fifteen straight had gone down.

      “That’s the stuff!” cried one man, enthusiastically, as Bart was about to make his last shot.

      “Hush!” cautioned Clayton, but Bart did not mind. He fired his last bullet, and knocked over his sixteenth target, only he did not hit it as squarely as he had the others.

      “That’s very good shooting, my lad,” remarked a man who had stood near Bart’s elbow. “Very good indeed. Would you like to try your skill with me; on a little wager?”

      “I never bet,” answered Bart, coolly, as he tried to get a glimpse of the man’s face. But the latter wore a slouch hat, which was pulled well down over his eyes, shading his features.

      “Oh, I don’t mean a bet,” was the quick answer. “I only meant that the loser would pay the bill for cartridges,” and he laughed, not unpleasantly. As Bart had often done this with his chums, and other lads in town, he had no objection to it, and the arrangement was made.

      “What shall it be, sixteen straight?” asked the stranger, as he carefully selected a gun.

      “Double it if you like,” replied Bart, who was just warming up to his work.

      “Ah, you’re game, I see,” was the laughing comment. “Well, I’m willing. Will you go first?”

      “I’ll shoot sixteen shots, then you can do the same, then I’ll take sixteen more, and you can finish,” answered Bart, and this arrangement was made.

      By this time word had gotten around that some remarkable shooting was going on in the gallery, and it was packed almost to the doors. Bart and the stranger had difficulty in getting room to aim properly.

      Bart started off, and in rapid succession made sixteen straight targets of the moving objects. There was a cheer, and it was repeated when his rival duplicated the lad’s performance. Bart was not exactly annoyed, but he felt that his reputation was at stake. He was easily accounted the best shot in Darewell, but now it seemed likely that he would have to share the honors with this stranger. Bart felt himself wishing that the man would show his face, but the soft hat remained pulled down well over the fellow’s eyes.

      Bart began on his second round, and all went well until the last shot. Then, in some unaccountable manner, he missed it clean. Still, his performance was a fine one.

      The stranger said nothing as he took his place. Slowly and confidently he pulled the trigger, and worked the lever that ejected the discharged shell, and pumped a new bullet into place. For fourteen shots he never made a miss. Then, on the fifteenth of the second round he made a blank by a narrow margin. A start of annoyance betrayed itself. At best he could but tie Bart. Once more the gun sent out flame and smoke.

      “Missed!” called out Clayton, quickly, as he looked at the target.

      Bart had won. The stranger paused a moment, as if to make sure that he had lost, and then, throwing down on the counter the price for his shots and Bart’s, he turned to leave the place. Several stared at him, for it seemed as if he should have said something, or congratulated his rival, but he did not. He pushed his way through the press of men and boys, and reached the outer door.

      Then, by some accident, a man brushed against him, and the stranger’s hat came off. Bart, who was looking at him, could not repress an exclamation of astonishment.

      “What’s the matter?” asked Clayton.

      “Nothing – nothing,” murmured Bart, quickly.

      “Come on, show us some fancy shooting,” urged Sandy Merton, who at one time had been an enemy of the chums, but who was now on friendly terms with them.

      “No – I can’t – now,” answered Bart, a bit shortly. “Come on, fellows,” he called to Ned, Frank and Fenn. They followed him, wondering at his haste. Bart was making his way rapidly to the door. Once outside he gazed up and down the street. It was deserted, and lay cold and silent under the moon.

      “He’s gone!” exclaimed Bart, in disappointed tones.

      “Who?” inquired Ned.

      “That man – the man I shot against.”

      “Well, what difference does that make? Did you want another contest? You beat him.”

      “I know it,” spoke Bart quietly. “But do you know who he was?”

      “No,” answered Frank and Fenn together.

      “He was the man we saw getting into the school the night Mrs. Long’s diamond bracelet was taken!” answered Bart. “That’s the man who can prove that we are innocent – that’s the thief! Come on, let’s see if we can catch him!” and Bart started off on a run.

      CHAPTER 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.

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