"Been looking for you all over town for about sixteen hours.
Been shooting, eh? I'll bet a can of buttermilk against a shoestring
that you all made outer rings."

"Hullo, Whopper!" called the others. "Come in and try your luck."

"Can't---I'm dead broke this morning," answered Frank Dawson.
"I've got to wait a year or two till my next allowance comes in."

"Here's the money," answered Charley Dodge, producing five cents.
"Now, Whopper, don't make more than three bull's-eyes."

"I'm going to make twenty-'leven," answered the boy called Whopper.
"Don't you know that I once went into a gallery in the city and
made one hundred bull's-eyes in succession? The proprietor fainted
and didn't get over it for two months."

"Phew! That's the biggest whopper yet!" ejaculated Giant. "Nothing
like living up to your reputation."

The boy who could tell big stories on all occasions took up the
rifle and shot three times with care, and as a result placed three
inner rings to his credit.

"That isn't bad," said Shep Reed. "But Snap is the boss rifleman
of this crowd."

"Then we must make him the leader of our gun club," put in Giant.
"What do you say, fellows?"