Slugger Brown and Nappy Martell had not
participated in the festivities of the evening. The two had gone off
for a walk, during which they smoked many cigarettes and talked over
their grievances against the Rovers. On their return they were met by
Codfish, who related to them his tale of woe.

"Oh, we've got to do something," was Nappy Martell's comment. "If we
don't, before we know it the Rovers will be fairly running this
school."

"Well, they won't run me," growled Slugger Brown.

The following Monday found the Rover boys once more hard at work over
their studies. They had now settled down to the regular routine of the
Hall, and were doing very well, not only in their classes, but also in
their training as young soldiers. Each of them could march and handle a
gun as well as anybody, and now they were given the privilege of
practising at target shooting--something which interested them greatly.

"Let's get up a little match among ourselves," said Randy one day; and
this was agreed upon, eight new cadets entering the contest.

The shooting was done at a target set up against a tree some distance
behind the gymnasium building; and the boys did their practising under
the direction of Captain Dale.

"It requires considerable practice to become an expert shot," said the
military instructor. "Once in a while we find someone who is a
natural-born sharpshooter, but that is very rare. Some of the best
shots in the army are men who, at the start, hardly knew how to handle
firearms."

At this target practice a perfect score would have netted twenty-five
points. The contest went on merrily, and at the conclusion it was found
that Andy had scored ten points; Randy, twelve; Jack, eighteen; and
Fred, nineteen. One other cadet, a youth named Lewis Barrow, had scored
twenty.

"Well, the prize goes to Barrow!" cried Jack.

"Yes. But we came pretty close to winning," cried Fred, with
justifiable pride.

"You and Jack needn't complain," was Andy's comment. "Eighteen and
nineteen points out of a possible twenty-five is going some, especially
for beginners."

"If I win the prize, what is it?" questioned Lewis Barrow, a tall,
lanky youth with a rather leathery face. He came from the far West, and
knew much more about firearms than did the Rovers.

"Oh, the prize is first choice of holes in half a dozen doughnuts,"
snickered Andy.

"Holes in doughnuts!" replied Barrow, who was not over-bright.
"Suffering buffaloes! What wou