“Ye see, Lundie, that something is to be gained by exciting a female’s curiosity.  It’s an active sentiment is curiosity, and properly improved may lead to gentler innovations in the end.”

“Very true, Davy; but ye keep us all waiting while ye make your preparations; and here is Pathfinder drawing near to catch a lesson from your greater experience.”

“Well Pathfinder, and so you have come to get an idea too, concerning the philosophy of shooting?  I do not wish to hide my light under a bushel, and yer welcome to all ye’ll learn.  Do ye no’ mean to try a shot yersel’, man?”

“Why should I, Quartermaster, why should I?  I want none of the prizes; and as for honor, I have had enough of that, if it’s any honor to shoot better than yourself.  I’m not a woman to wear a calash.”

“Very true; but ye might find a woman that is precious in your eyes to wear it for ye, as —­ —­ "

“Come, Davy,” interrupted the Major, “your shot or a retreat.  The Adjutant is getting impatient.”

“The Quartermaster’s department and the Adjutant’s department are seldom compliable, Lundie; but I’m ready.  Stand a little aside, Pathfinder, and give the ladies an opportunity.”

Lieutenant Muir now took his attitude with a good deal of studied elegance, raised his rifle slowly, lowered it, raised it again, repeated the manoeuvres, and fired.

“Missed the target altogether!” shouted the man whose duty it was to mark the bullets, and who had little relish for the Quartermaster’s tedious science.  “Missed the target!”

“It cannot be!” cried Muir, his face flushing equally with indignation and shame; “it cannot be, Adjutant; for I never did so awkward a thing in my life.  I appeal to the ladies for a juster judgment.”

“The ladies shut their eyes when you fired!” exclaimed the regimental wags.  “Your preparations alarmed them.”

“I will na believe such calumny of the leddies, nor sic’ a reproach on my own skill,” returned the Quartermaster, growing more and more Scotch as he warmed with his feelings; “it’s a conspiracy to rob a meritorious man of his dues.”

“It’s a dead miss, Muir,” said the laughing Lundie; “and ye’ll jist sit down quietly with the disgrace.”

“No, no, Major,” Pathfinder at length observed; “the Quartermaster is a good shot for a slow one and a measured distance, though nothing extr’ornary for real service.  He has covered Jasper’s bullet, as will be seen, if any one will take the trouble to examine the target.”

The respect for Pathfinder’s skill and for his quickness and accuracy of sight was so profound and general, that, the instant he made this declaration, the spectators began to distrust their own opinions, and a dozen rushed to the target in order to ascertain the fact.  There, sure enough, it was found that the Quartermaster’s bullet had gone through the hole made by Jasper’s, and that, too, so accurately as to require a minute examination to be certain of the circumstance; which, however, was soon clearly established, by discovering one bullet over the other in the stump against which the target was placed.