the first position--how to hold your rifle."

Captain Lem had put on a rusty uniform, a relic of former grandeur "back
home," and carried his bent shoulders with a military precision that
quite transformed him. He gave Gray Lady a salute, moved forward and
placed her "in position" and handed her the rifle.

"Hold it just this way, scholar, and sight your bull's-eye. Keep your
eye on that, allowin' for a little play in the carryin', and now--pull
your trigger--let her go!"

Mrs. Ford obeyed, or thought she did. The result was that the gun
kicked, she screamed, and threw it as far from her as she could. What
became of the bullet she never knew, but she firmly declined any further
lessons in the fine art of sharpshooting.

"Look at Lem's face!" whispered Herbert to Molly who giggled and
returned:

"Wait till it comes my turn, I'll show him something!"

The Captain, as they henceforth called him tried to hide his look of
disgust by turning his back upon the group, and asking in a sarcastic
tone:

"Any more females want to take a try? The schoolma'am lady, for
instance?"

She ignored his question and sat down by her hostess to soothe that now
abashed person for her failure. Captain Lem had withered even the lady
of the ranch by his contempt.

"Helena next!" cried Molly, fairly dancing about in her impatience.

So Helena tried and made out fairly well. That is she succeeded in
keeping the rifle in hand, she did not scream at the discharge, and she
came within a hundred feet of the target. The lads applauded, noisily,
and she mocked back at their pretended admiration, though she made one
effort only and subsided on the bench beside the ladies.

"All the same it's wonderfully exciting! And I mean to try again,
to-morrow, if they'll let me," she remarked.

"Let some of the boys try before we do, so we can see how it's done. Or
you, Captain Hunt, you show us!" begged Molly.

This was what he had waited for. With a strut he marched across the
space between them and the target and carried that much further back. He
longed for a target bearing an arrangement of letters that he could hit
and cause to disappear, as at his boasted Seagirt, instead of a plain
affair such as this he had to use.

Strutting back to them he lay down, wriggled himself into position,
muttered something about the sun in his eyes, hemmed and hawed, took
final aim and--let her go!

But she didn't go--not in the least. All unconsciously, he ha