But he kept away
from Merriwell's crowd, mingling with others from Yale whom he knew.
Hodge's score and the Westerner's were nearly alike. Hodge saw it and
squirmed. Then Merriwell, who had made only one miss, scored two "goose
eggs," and Badger climbed up to him.
"I don't like that," Bart grumbled. "You're not doing your best, Merry.
Badger may beat you."
Merriwell was cleaning out and cooling his gun--Bart's gun--which both
were using, and which had grown hot and foul from rapid firing. The
first round of twenty shots was nearing its close. Only four more shots
were to be fired in it, at two pairs of birds. Badger had to his credit
thirteen hits and three misses, and Merriwell the same.
"If you should miss one of the four and Badger should hit them all you
would be beaten!" Bart urged uneasily. "And I don't want you to be
beaten by him. I'm afraid you are going to tie. I want you to beat him.
I can't stand it to have him crowing round."
Merriwell smiled placidly.
"Don't steam so, Hodge. It just heats you up, and makes you unhappy. If
Buck Badger should beat me, I don't see that it would make a great
difference. I haven't been shooting for a record this afternoon."
"All right," said Hodge. "However good your intentions may be, that
fellow will never give you honest credit for them.
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