“Well, boys, I guess we are ready for the fun,” called Col.  Zane, cheerily.  “Only one shot apiece, mind you, except in case of a tie.  Now, everybody shoot his best.”

The first contest was a shooting match known as “driving the nail.”  It was as the name indicated, nothing less than shooting at the head of a nail.  In the absence of a nail—­for nails were scarce—­one was usually fashioned from a knife blade, or an old file, or even a piece of silver.  The nail was driven lightly into the stake, the contestants shot at it from a distance as great as the eyesight permitted.  To drive the nail hard and fast into the wood at one hundred yards was a feat seldom accomplished.  By many hunters it was deemed more difficult than “snuffing the candle,” another border pastime, which consisted of placing in the dark at any distance a lighted candle, and then putting out the flame with a single rifle ball.  Many settlers, particularly those who handled the plow more than the rifle, sighted from a rest, and placed a piece of moss under the rife-barrel to prevent its spring at the discharge.

The match began.  Of the first six shooters Jonathan Zane and Alfred Clarke scored the best shots.  Each placed a bullet in the half-inch circle round the nail.

“Alfred, very good, indeed,” said Col.  Zane.  “You have made a decided improvement since the last shooting-match.”

Six other settlers took their turns.  All were unsuccessful in getting a shot inside the little circle.  Thus a tie between Alfred and Jonathan had to be decided.

“Shoot close, Alfred,” yelled Isaac.  “I hope you beat him.  He always won from me and then crowed over it.”

Alfred’s second shot went wide of the mark, and as Jonathan placed another bullet in the circle, this time nearer the center, Alfred had to acknowledge defeat.

“Here comes Miller,” said Silas Zane.  “Perhaps he will want a try.”

Col.  Zane looked round.  Miller had joined the party.  He carried his rifle and accoutrements, and evidently had just returned to the settlement.  He nodded pleasantly to all.

“Miller, will you take a shot for the first prize, which I was about to award to Jonathan?” said Col.  Zane.

“No.  I am a little late, and not entitled to a shot.  I will take a try for the others,” answered Miller.

At the arrival of Miller on the scene Wetzel had changed his position to one nearer the crowd.  The dog, Tige, trotted closely at his heels.  No one heard Tige’s low growl or Wetzel’s stern word to silence him.  Throwing his arm over Betty’s pony, Wetzel apparently watched the shooters.  In reality he studied intently Miller’s every movement.

“I expect some good shooting for this prize,” said Col.  Zane, waving a beautifully embroidered buckskin bullet pouch, which was one of Betty’s donations.

Jonathan having won his prize was out of the lists and could compete no more.  This entitled Alfred to the first shot for second prize.  He felt he would give anything he possessed to win the dainty trifle which the Colonel had waved aloft.  Twice he raised his rifle in his exceeding earnestness to score a good shot and each time lowered 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.