IN THE SHOOTING GALLERY
Fenn's suggestion gave a new impetus to the hunt, which was renewed with
energy. Mrs. Masterson, who heard from the boys what had taken place,
joined them in searching through the long grass of the back yard for the
turtle. But it was not to be found.
"It's very likely a good distance from here," said Fenn, who was well
versed in the habits of the reptiles. "They go slow, but they keep it
up, and this one has had two days' start. We'll have to hunt farther off
than this for him."
"Then that's what we'll do!" declared Frank. "We'll organize ourselves
into a hunting party for a diamond-studded turtle," and he laughed.
"It's no laughing matter, though," declared Bart. "If we go back and
tell that kind of a yarn we'll look ridiculous."
"Then why tell it?" inquired Ned. "Let's keep mum about that part of it,
too. We'll simply report to Professor Long that we can't find his wife's
bracelet, or the turtle, either, but every spare minute we get we'll be
on the lookout for the reptile."
"And the man, too," added Fenn. "We want to find out who he was."
"Of course," agreed Bart. "We should have given the alarm when we saw
him going in the school, but it's too late now. Come on back, and take
our medicine."
It was not a very happy quartette of lads who made their way back to the
Darewell High School. They went directly to Professor Long, who turned
his physics class over to another instructor, and conducted the chums to
his private room.
"Well?" he asked suggestively.
"We couldn't find the bracelet or the turtle," said Bart.
"I was afraid not," was Mr. Long's quiet comment. "I have notified the
detectives."
"You--you're not going to have us arrested--are you?" blurted out Frank.
"My father----"
"Have no fears on that score," answered the professor. "I have not the
slightest grounds for thinking you boys _stole_ the bracelet," and,
perhaps unconsciously, he emphasized the word.
"We never took the bracelet!" declared Ned stoutly.
"Of that I am not so sure," was the retort. "I do not accuse you--that
would not be right. You have accused yourselves, after a fashion. What I
think is this: I believe the bracelet was accidentally taken out of the
cabinet in the confusion, and, perhaps, dropped on the way to Fenn's
house. That is why I am sending for the police. Some person may have
picked it up, and may be keeping it. I believe that is all now. You may
return to your classes," and though he tried to speak calmly, there was
a note of disappointment, not to say displeasure, in Mr. Long's voice.
Naturally the story was all over the school by the noon recess, and Bart
and his chums were besieged with questions. They had held a brief
consultation, and resolved to make only certain statements. These were
to the effect that though they had played the trick with the reptiles,
they knew nothing of the bracelet, and their search for that and the
turtle, had been without avail.
Needless to say, that few, if any, of the students had the least
suspicion against the chums. Nor, for that matter, did any of the faculty
entertain any unjust thoughts. It was regarded more as an accident. Mr.
Long being the party who suffered, could, perhaps, be excused for
thinking that perhaps the boys had taken the bracelet in a joke, and were
now afraid to return it. In fact he hardly knew what to believe. In due
time the police came to the school, made an investigation and questioned
our heroes. They went away as wise as they came. But, as several days
passed, and there was no trace of the bracelet, there was an undefined
air of suspicion directed against the chums. It was not in so many words,
but nevertheless they felt it.
Two weeks passed, during which, in all of their spare time, Bart and his
chums made a search for the turtle in such places as the reptiles were
wont to be found. But, of course, they discovered none wearing a diamond
bracelet on its neck, though they did find a few specimens which Fenn
added to his collection. It was not the time of year when turtles
abounded.
Several football games were played, and there seemed to be no ill spirit
manifested against the four lads, until one Saturday about three weeks
after the disappearance of the diamond ornament. Then, during a
hotly-contested game with the Fernwood High School, one of the opposing
players remarked to Bart, after a hard scrimmage:
"We're not used to playing against diamond robbers, and maybe that's why
we can't break through your line."
Bart's answer was a blow that knocked the sneering lad down, and
resulted in Bart being ruled out of the game. From then on the Darewell
eleven seemed to go to pieces, and they lost the game.
There were many sore hearts among the students that night, and accusing
glances were cast at Bart. His chums felt his position deeply.
"I know it was a hasty thing to do," said Bart, contritely, "but I
couldn't help it."
From then on there seemed to be a spirit manifested against the four
chums, and, naturally, they resented it. The others would not desert
Bart, and when he refused to apologize to the lad he had struck, and was
permanently ruled off the eleven, Ned, Frank and Fenn resigned. They
resisted the pleading of the manager to remain, so that the school
eleven would not be crippled.
"It's the school's place to stick by us, as much as it is ours to stick
by the eleven," declared Frank. "The fellows are beginning to think we
took that bracelet. We'll show them that we didn't, and, in the
meanwhile, it's better that we don't take part in any games."
His chums agreed with him, and for a time it seemed as if they would be
sent to Coventry. But a calmer spirit prevailed, and when some of the
school societies took up the matter it was agreed that the four had a
right to do as they pleased, and that the lad who had made the offensive
remark was in the wrong; and so matters quieted down.
But the football season ended anything but brilliantly for Darewell, and
the four chums felt this bitterly in their hearts, though they could do
no differently than they had done.
"I should think you boys would hire a detective on your own account,"
said Alice Keene to her brother, one November evening, when the four
chums were at Bart's house. "You could get one easily, and perhaps he
could locate the bracelet for you."
"We'll do it ourselves," remarked Bart firmly.
"If we could only find the turtle we'd have it, I'm sure," declared
Fenn, who had not lost faith in his odd theory.
"We've looked in every likely place where turtles are around here," said
Frank.
"Yes; and now we ought to go farther off," came from Ned. "I say fellows,
what's the matter with going on a little hunting expedition soon? The
weather is just right, we all have guns, and I think the trip would do us
good."
"Why not make it a big hunting expedition while we're at it?" suggested
Frank.
"A big one? What do you mean?" asked Bart.
"Why, I mean go camping, as we did not long ago. We don't mind the cold,
or ice and snow. We could make a winter camp, around the Christmas
holidays, and have lots of sport."
"And a Christmas tree in the woods!" cried Alice. "That would be lovely!
Jennie Smith and I would come out and see you--if it wasn't too far."
"Yes, Jennie'd recite poetry, and you'd insist on making us drink hot
ginger tea, so as not to catch cold," observed Bart.
Alice looked a little hurt, until Ned added:
"Well, I'm sure ginger tea would be all right in a snow storm, such as
we had the last time we camped in the winter."
"Of course," agreed Alice, gratefully.
"It would be a good thing to get away from school and the town of
Darewell for a while, at least," was Bart's opinion. "People are
beginning to think we really stole that bracelet."
"Oh, Bart!" remonstrated Alice, reproachfully.
"Well, it's the truth," he went on doggedly. "I'd as soon have 'em say
it as look it. I'd like to get away for that reason, and, of course, it
would be sport to have a winter camp again."
"Then let's do it," proposed Ned. "At the same time we can look for mud
turtles."
"You won't see many, unless there's a thaw," was Fenn's opinion. "But
you can count on me going."
"And me," added Frank and Ned.
"Hasn't anything been learned of the missing bracelet yet?" asked Mrs.
Keene, coming into the room, in time to hear some of the conversation.
"No," answered her son, "and it's my opinion that it never will be
found, until--" He paused in some confusion.
"Until when?" asked his mother.
"Until we locate it," finished Bart. "Well, fellows, let's talk of a
winter camp. Maybe we can manage it around the holidays. We don't get
much of a vacation, but I guess we could afford to take an extra week."
"Is your gun in shape again, since you broke it?" asked Ned.
"Sure. I fixed that spring," replied Bart. "I'll show you. Come on up to
my den. I'm not allowed to have firearms in the dining-room," and he led
the way, his chums following. From then on, until the three left, the
talk was a conglomeration of powder, shot, shells, guns, game and
camp-life.
The weeks passed. Little mention was made of the bracelet now, but Mr.
Long showed by his manner that he had not forgotten the loss of it. He
was not exactly distrustful of the boys, but his bearing was, to say the
least, a bit suspicious.
One evening, following an examination in school, Bart remarked to his
chums, as they gathered at his house:
"Come on down to the shooting gallery. They've got some new guns there,
and I want to try them. It's good practice if we're going camping.
Besides, I'm full of Latin verbs and Greek roots, and I want to clear my
mind."
"You don't need any practice," remarked Ned. "You can beat us all to
pieces shooting."
"I have to keep in practice, though," asserted Bart, who, to give him
credit, was quite expert with the rifle.
A little later the four were in the gallery, trying their skill with the
new rifles which the proprietor had purchased.
"Here's one that ought to suit you, Bart," remarked the man in charge,
who was well known to the boys. "It's well balanced. Try that small
target."
"No, I want something moving, Clayton," replied Bart. "Start off the
birds and beasts."
These were small images of birds and squirrels that moved around on a
sort of endless chain arrangement. Clayton, the man in charge of the
gallery, set the machinery in motion, and the painted effigies began to
go around. Bart raised the rifle--a repeater--to his shoulder, took
quick aim, and fired. A bird was knocked over, then a squirrel went
down, and, in rapid succession he repeated this until he had fifteen
hits to his credit, out of a possible sixteen.
"Fine!" cried Ned, enviously.
"I should have had 'em all," announced Bart with a shake of his head.
"Here, some of you fellows try."
They did, but could not do nearly as good as had Bart. Then Bart
contented himself with making bullseyes at a stationary target, though
Frank and Ned made another effort to equal Bart's record with the moving
objects. Frank came the nearest with ten.
"Now I'll try for sixteen out of sixteen," announced Bart, as Clayton
reloaded the weapon for him.
By this time a crowd had gathered in the gallery, which, being a new
amusement resort in town, was quite an attraction. 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.