en, when we get to
Star Ranch, you can dress up in regular cowgirl fashion, and ride a
bronco, and fire off your gun in true western style."

"And have a big bear eat me up, eh?" answered Laura. "No, thank you--I
want to come back East alive. But I'll come down to the field as soon as
I can find Jessie," answered Laura, and walked away.

A long, melodious whistle was floating through the outside air, and Dave
and Roger knew it came from Phil Lawrence. They hurried from the broad
porch to the garden path, and around the corner of the carriage shed.
Here they came upon their chum, carrying on his shoulder an old door
upon which he had painted the upright figure of what was supposed to be
a bear.

"Hurrah for the great animal painter!" cried Dave, as he ran up and took
hold of one end of the door. "Phil, you ought to place this in the
Academy of Design."

"It's superb!" was Roger's dry comment. "Best picture of a kangaroo I
ever saw. Or is it a sheep, Phil?"

"Humph! It's a good deal better than you could have painted," grumbled
the amateur artist.

"Sure it is--best photo of a tiger I ever saw," said Dave, adding to the
fun. "Why, you can almost hear him growl!"

"See here, if you're going to poke fun at me I'll throw the target away.
I put in two hours of hard work, and three cans of paint, and----"

"We won't say another word, Phil," interrupted Roger. "Here, let me take
hold. You've carried it far enough," and he relieved Phil of his burden.

"I wonder where would be the best place to set it?" mused Dave, gazing
across the field.

"Up against the tree over there," answered Phil, pointing. "I had that
spot picked out when I painted it. We'll set it so that it will look as
if his bearship was trying to climb the tree."

"It's rather close to the back road," protested Dave. "We might hit
somebody."

"Oh, hardly anybody uses that road,--so the stableman told me," answered
Roger. "Besides, we can watch out. One always wants to be careful when
shooting, at a target or otherwise."

The three youths soon had the target placed to their satisfaction, and
then began a lively blazing away with the three revolvers that had been
brought along. They aimed for the eyes of the painted creature, and for
other vital spots, and all did fairly well.

"You're the best shot, Dave," announced Roger, during a lull in the
practice, when all had gone to inspect the "damage" done. "You've
plugged him right in the eyes three time