d 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 can-not 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--leastways
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 Varley? Come on,
youngster, an' take yer shot."

The youth came forward with evident reluctance. "It's of no manner o'
use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my
old gun."

"Never give in," whispered Blunt, encouragingly.

Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was merited, for, on
pulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire.

"Lend him another gun," cried several voices.

"'Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope," said Scraggs.

"Well, so it is; try again."

Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the
nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge.

Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began as
to which was the better shot of the two.

"There are others to shoot yet," cried the major. "Make way. Look
out."

The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took
their shots, but without coming nearer the mark.

It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two best
shots, should try over again, and