TARGET PRACTICE
Colby Hall prepared for a great celebration that night in honor of
their victory over Hixley High. Boxes and barrels had been stored away
in anticipation of just such an occasion, and these were brought out
and stacked up at a safe place along the river front.
"Bonfires to-night--and big ones, too!" cried Andy, and let off his
surplusage of spirits by turning several handsprings.
"Look out, Andy!" cried Fred, "or some circus will capture you."
"Sour grapes!" retorted the fun-loving youth.
"Oh, it was grand--the way you held Hixley High back in that last
quarter!" remarked Ruth to Jack. "I was so afraid they would break
through and score, I could hardly wait for the whistle to blow."
"It was certainly some game!" answered Jack. "You see, they are so much
heavier than we are."
The victorious eleven came in for all sorts of congratulations, and
Jack was slapped on the back until the wind was almost knocked out of
him. As soon as he could escape from his friends, he and the others
took the girls down to a waiting automobile and set off for Clearwater
Hall. On the way the young folks sang and cut up to their hearts'
content, having the best possible time.
The only cadet at Colby Hall who was not elated over the victory was
Slugger Brown. Even though two substitutes had been used in the game,
and even though the big fellow had repented of his former decision, and
agreed to play if called upon, Gif had ignored him and used a player at
least ten pounds lighter in weight.
"He doesn't intend to give me a show--and that's all there is to it,"
remarked Slugger to Nappy Martell, bitterly.
"Well, you told him you wouldn't play unless you could go out at the
start of the game," answered his crony.
"I told him that first, but afterwards I agreed to go in as a sub,"
growled Brown. "But I can see how it is--those Rovers have told
Garrison how we acted on the lake, and so Garrison has made up his mind
to ignore me entirely, even though I've got the weight and can play as
good as any of them."
"Oh, I don't doubt but what it's the Rovers' fault!" retorted Martell.
"And that puts me in mind--are we going to do anything to get square or
not?"
"Don't worry about that, Nap--we'll do something all right enough! But
I want the chance first to think up something that will be worth
while," answered Slugger Brown, emphatically.
The bonfires along the river were lit directly after supper, after the
cadets had received permission from Colonel Colby. The boys were
allowed to do about as they pleased, the only stipulation being that
they should avoid anything that might be dangerous or ungentlemanly.
With the bonfires blazing high, throwing a lurid glare over the campus
and parade grounds, the cadets sang and danced and then started an
impromptu parade which took them around the various buildings of the
school. Many carried torches, while four had drums and bugles. There
was a good deal of horseplay, and also something in the way of hazing.
"Here is where we get back at Codfish for some of his meanness!" cried
Randy, as he and some of the others caught the sneak.
Then Codfish was made to stand up on an unusually large barrel and
sing, after which he was told to hold out each hand for a valuable
present.
"I don't want any present! I want to get down!" cried the sneak.
"Oh, this is something very valuable, Codfish," returned Randy, and
winked at some of the others.
Just for the fun of it, some of the cadets had obtained some potatoes
from the storehouse and started to roast these under one of the
bonfires. Two of the potatoes, quite hot and black, were brought forth
and thrust into Codfish's hands.
"Ouch! What do you mean by handing me red-hot potatoes!" yelled the
sneak, in alarm.
"Oh, we thought you were hungry," cried one of the other cadets.
"You wanted to burn me--that's what you wanted to do!" shrieked
Codfish, who, however, was far more scared than hurt. "I want to get
down!"
"You've got to give us a dance first, Codfish," ordered Randy.
"That's right! Give us a jig!" put in Andy.
"Make it a Boston seven-step," suggested Jack.
"Or a Washington dip," added Fred.
A dozen of the cadets were shouting at poor Codfish to dance, and
presently the excited boy commenced to shuffle his feet.
"Now jump up three times and we'll let you go!" cried Randy.
Codfish made one leap into the air and came down on the barrel top
successfully. Then he tried a second leap, but, as Randy well knew, the
barrel top was weak, and, with a crash, poor Codfish went down straight
into the big barrel up to his armpits.
"Whoop! Codfish has busted the barrel!" cried Fred.
"What do you mean by breaking up housekeeping like that, Codfish?"
demanded Andy.
"Let's do the baker act for him," went on Randy, quickly.
"The baker act?" queried several of the cadets. "What's that?"
"Don't you know the baker loves his rolls?" answered Andy, with a broad
grin.
"That's the talk!" came in a shout. "Let's give Codfish a roll;" and
before the sneak could save himself the barrel was tipped up on its
side and sent rolling over and over towards the parade ground.
"Ouch! Let up! I'll be killed!" screamed the victim. "This barrel may
have a lot of nails in it!"
"Oh, do you think that's true?" asked one of the cadets in fright.
"Nary a nail! I saw to that before we used the barrel," answered Randy.
"Such a rolling won't hurt him a bit;" and the cadets continued their
sport with the barrel, finally sending it down a slight hill in the
direction of the river. Here it lodged against some bushes, and Codfish
was allowed to crawl forth. At once he took to his heels and
disappeared.
It was noticed by many that Slugger Brown and Nappy Martell had not
participated in the festivities of the evening. The two had gone off
for a walk, during which they smoked many cigarettes and talked over
their grievances against the Rovers. On their return they were met by
Codfish, who related to them his tale of woe.
"Oh, we've got to do something," was Nappy Martell's comment. "If we
don't, before we know it the Rovers will be fairly running this
school."
"Well, they won't run me," growled Slugger Brown.
The following Monday found the Rover boys once more hard at work over
their studies. They had now settled down to the regular routine of the
Hall, and were doing very well, not only in their classes, but also in
their training as young soldiers. Each of them could march and handle a
gun as well as anybody, and now they were given the privilege of
practising at target shooting--something which interested them greatly.
"Let's get up a little match among ourselves," said Randy one day; and
this was agreed upon, eight new cadets entering the contest.
The shooting was done at a target set up against a tree some distance
behind the gymnasium building; and the boys did their practising under
the direction of Captain Dale.
"It requires considerable practice to become an expert shot," said the
military instructor. "Once in a while we find someone who is a
natural-born sharpshooter, but that is very rare. Some of the best
shots in the army are men who, at the start, hardly knew how to handle
firearms."
At this target practice a perfect score would have netted twenty-five
points. The contest went on merrily, and at the conclusion it was found
that Andy had scored ten points; Randy, twelve; Jack, eighteen; and
Fred, nineteen. One other cadet, a youth named Lewis Barrow, had scored
twenty.
"Well, the prize goes to Barrow!" cried Jack.
"Yes. But we came pretty close to winning," cried Fred, with
justifiable pride.
"You and Jack needn't complain," was Andy's comment. "Eighteen and
nineteen points out of a possible twenty-five is going some, especially
for beginners."
"If I win the prize, what is it?" questioned Lewis Barrow, a tall,
lanky youth with a rather leathery face. He came from the far West, and
knew much more about firearms than did the Rovers.
"Oh, the prize is first choice of holes in half a dozen doughnuts,"
snickered Andy.
"Holes in doughnuts!" replied Barrow, who was not over-bright.
"Suffering buffaloes! What would a fellow do with holes out of
doughnuts?" and at this there was a little laugh.
"For beginners, I think you have all done very well," remarked Captain
Dale. "The lowest score, I see, is nine. Last year when the new cadets
went at practice, we had several fellows who didn't hit the target."
"Gee! I'd hate to go hunting with such chaps," was Andy's dry comment.
"A fellow would have to get right directly in front of 'em to be sure
of not being hit;" and this remark made even the military instructor
laugh.
"I'll be proud of all of you," said Major Ralph Mason, when he heard of
the scores that had been made. "First thing you know, we'll have a
company of genuine sharpshooters."
"This practising at a target will come in fine if we get a chance to do
any hunting this winter," remarked Fred. "Wow! Just think what would
have happened if that target had been a deer, or even a partridge!"
"A deer or a partridge isn't apt to stand still," returned Randy. "If
you want to become expert as a hunting shot, you'll have to practise at
a swinging target."
"Well, that's to come later, so Captain Dale said," was the answer.
"Say, let's go out hunting some day when the season opens!" cried Jack.
"I'd like first rate to bag something, even if it were only a few
rabbits."
"That's the talk!" answered Fred, quickly. "As soon as the hunting
season opens let's go out, by all means."
The target practice had been witnessed by Slugger Brown and Nappy
Martell. Now, when Jack and Fred spoke of hunting, Slugger Brown's face
became thoughtful.
"I think I see a way to square accounts with those Rovers," he remarked
to his crony. "From now on, I'm going to watch 'em pretty closely. If
ever they do go out hunting, I think we'll be able to put one over on
'em they'll never forget."