erwell out there," said Roger. "My, but he
was mad when he left Oak Hall! He'd like to chew your head off, Dave!"

"I don't want to see him," answered Dave, soberly. But this wish was not
to be fulfilled. He was to meet Link Merwell in the near future, and
that meeting was to be productive of some decidedly unpleasant results.

CHAPTER II

A STRAY SHOT

Dave soon returned to the field with a rope, and the representation of a
bear was swung from the lower limb of an old apple tree. Then another
smaller line was fastened at one side, so that the "bear" could be swung
to and fro.

"You can do the first shooting," said Dave to his chums. "I'll play
bellman." And he pulled on the side rope, so that the door swung like
the pendulum of a clock.

"Hi! don't swing too fast!" called out Phil. "Sixty seconds to the
minute, remember."

He took his position, and watching his chance, fired.

"How's that?" he asked, after the report had died away.

"Hit his bearship in the left ear," announced Dave.

"Humph! I aimed for his right eye!"

The senator's son now tried his luck and managed to hit the
representation of a bear in the tail. This made all the lads laugh, and
Roger and Phil called on Dave to show his skill.

"I don't think this revolver works very well," said the senator's son,
handing the weapon to Dave. "The trigger seems to catch in some way."

"Oh, don't blame the pistol for your poor shooting, Roger!" cried Phil,
good-naturedly.

"Well, examine the pistol for yourself, Phil."

Dave took the weapon and snapped the trigger. There was no report, and
he tried again, aiming at some brushwood not far from the apple tree.
The brushwood was close to the back road.

"It's all right now, I guess," he said, as the pistol went off with
ease. "But that trigger ought to be looked after," he added. "You
wouldn't want it to miss fire at a critical moment."

He stepped forward and, while Roger swung the representation of a bear,
he fired another shot.

"Good for you!" exclaimed the senator's son in admiration. "You took him
right in the throat, Dave!"

"Hold up there! Stop that! Do you hear me, you young rascals! Do you
want to kill me?"

The call came from the back road, and looking in that direction, the
three boys saw a well-dressed man coming toward them on the run. He was
carrying a whip, and his face was full of sudden passion.

"It's Aaron Poole, Nat's father!" said Dave, as he lowered the pistol i