d the
barrel. When finally he did shoot the bullet embedded itself in the
second circle. It was a good shot, but he knew it would never win
that prize.

"A little nervous, eh?" remarked Miller, with a half sneer on his
swarthy face.

Several young settlers followed in succession, but their aims were
poor. Then little Harry Bennet took his stand. Harry had won many
prizes in former matches, and many of the pioneers considered him
one of the best shots in the country.

"Only a few more after you, Harry," said Col. Zane. "You have a good
chance."

"All right, Colonel. That's Betty's prize and somebody'll have to do
some mighty tall shootin' to beat me," said the lad, his blue eyes
flashing as he toed the mark.

Shouts and cheers of approval greeted his attempt. The bullet had
passed into the wood so close to the nail that a knife blade could
not have been inserted between.

Miller's turn came next. He was a fine marksman and he knew it. With
the confidence born of long experience and knowledge of his weapon,
he took a careful though quick aim and fired. He turned away
satisfied that he would carry off the coveted prize. He had nicked
the nail.

But Miller reckoned without his host. Betty had seen the result of
his shot and the self-satisfied smile on his face. She watched
several of the settlers make poor attempts at the nail, and then,
convinced that not one of the other contestants could do so well as
Miller, she slipped off the horse and ran around to where Wetzel was
standing by her pony.

"Lew, I believe Miller will win my prize," she whispered, placing
her hand on the hunter's arm. "He has scratched the nail, and I am
sure no one except you can do better. I do not want Miller to have
anything of mine."

"And, little girl, you want me to shoot fer you," said Lewis.

"Yes, Lew, please come and shoot for me."

It was said of Wetzel that he never wasted powder. He never entered
into the races and shooting-matches of the settlers, yet it was well
known that he was the fleetest runner and the most unerring shot on
the frontier. Therefore, it was with surprise and pleasure that Col.
Zane heard the hunter say he guessed he would like one shot anyway.

Miller looked on with a grim smile. He knew that, Wetzel or no
Wetzel, it would take a remarkably clever shot to beat his.

"This shot's for Betty," said Wetzel as he stepped to the mark. He
fastened his keen eyes on the stake. At that distance the head of
t