regular time to shoot every week. I'll appoint Martin Chief
Inspector; but it must be distinctly understood that there is to be no
shooting unless he's here."

Martin was the "hired man" about Grandpa Orde's place.

The children fell on the idea with alacrity, and at once adjourned to
Bobby's room. Carter Irvine suggested formal organization.

"Somebody's got to make targets; and somebody's got to buy cartridges
and collect the money for them; and somebody's got to buy prizes--we got
to have prizes--and somebody's got to keep the scores."

After much talk they elected officers to perform these duties; and
formulated curious but practical by-laws. Bobby was elected secretary
and treasurer; and he has to-day a copy of them written in his own
boyish unformed hand. Among other things they provided that "any one
pointing a gun, accidentally or otherwise, at anybody else or Duke, is
fined one cent." The entire club went into a committee of the whole,
marched down town in a body and pestered a number of store-keepers.
Finally it purchased a silver bangle a little larger than a ten-cent
piece, had it hung from a bar pin, and inscribed "First Prize." The
second prize, following Mrs. Orde's practical suggestion, was a bright
ribbon. Winners were privileged to wear these until defeated. The shoots
were conducted with great ceremony. Each took a single chance in turn
until five rounds apiece had been expended. In a loud voice the scorer
announced the results, and the name of the next on the list. The
shooting was done from a dead rest over the saw-horse, and at about
fifteen yards. Martin sat by on the bridge-approach to the barn, smoking
a very short and very black clay pipe upside down. He rarely said
anything; but his twinkling eyes never for a moment left the excited
group. Martin was reliable. Occasionally he was called upon to referee
some particularly close decision--as to whether a certain bullet-hole
could be said to have cut the edge of the black or not--and his
decisions were never questioned.

The shoots were taken very seriously. He who won the first or second
prize wore it proudly. Scores, individual shots, good or bad luck,
distracting influences were all discussed with the greatest interest.
Grandpa Orde, happening home early one day, watched the performance with
great enjoyment, his hands behind him underneath the flapping linen
duster, his eyes twinkling, his jaws working slowly. At the time he made
no comme