t. This was the regular _measure_ among
them. Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not "hang" on
their aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object, and,
the instant the sight covered it, the ball sped to its mark. In a few
minutes the nail was encircled by bullet-holes, scarcely two of which
were more than an inch distant from the mark, and one--fired by Joe
Blunt--entered the tree close beside it.

"Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you would have carried off the
prize."

"So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake of his head. "Had it
a-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, I'd ha' done better, but I never
_could_ hit the nail. It's too small to _see_."

"That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs, with a sneer, as
he stepped forward.

All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about to
fire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had
hit the nail-head on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.

"That wins if there's no better," said the major, scarce able to conceal
his disappointment. "Who comes next?"

To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the line, straddling
his legs, and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, that
seemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodily
at the mark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughter and
applause. After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broad
grin overspread his countenance, and, looking round at his companions,
he said--"Ha! mes boys, I cannot behold de nail at all!"

"Can ye `behold' the _tree_?" shouted a voice, when the laugh that
followed this announcement had somewhat abated.

"Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can see _him_, an' a goot
small bit of de forest beyond."

"Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve the rifle--leastwise
ye ought to get the pup."

Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking aim.

The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bullet was
found close beside the nail!

"It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarked Jim Scraggs.

"Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreated to the rear and
wiped out his rifle; "mais I have kill most of my deer by dat same goot
luck."

"Bravo! Henri," said Major Hope as he passed; "you _deserve_ to win,
anyhow. Who's next?"

"Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varl