Dave Porter at Star Ranch | Page 2

to handle one. Phil has been painting a big door to represent a black bear, and we are going to see if we can do as well with a revolver as we did with the rifle."
"Do you expect to shoot bears on the ranch? I didn't see any when I was out there."
"We don't expect to see them around the house, but there must be plenty of game in the mountains."
"Oh, I presume that's true. But I shouldn't want to hunt bears--I'd be afraid," and Laura gave a little shiver.
"Girls weren't meant to be hunters," answered Dave, laughing. "But I shouldn't consider the outing complete unless I went on at least one big hunt--and I know Phil and Roger feel the same way about it."
"Hello, Dave!" cried a voice from an open doorway, and a handsome lad with dark curly hair showed himself. "Coming?"
"Yes, Roger. Where is Phil?"
"Gone to the field with his wooden bear." Roger Morr looked at his chum's sister. "Want to come along and try your luck?" he questioned. "A fine box of fudge to the one making the most bull's-eyes--I mean bear's-eyes."
"No, indeed, I'd be afraid of my life even to touch a revolver," answered the girl. "But I'll hunt up Jessie, and maybe we'll come down after a while to look on."
"Oh, you want to learn to shoot!" cried Roger. "Then, 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 times and once in the heart. Had he been a real bear, he'd be as dead as a salt mackerel now."
"Provided he had consented to stand still," answered Dave. "Shooting at a stationary object is one thing, and at a moving, living creature quite another."
"I have it!" cried Phil. "Let us get a rope and throw it over one of the tree limbs. Then we can tie the door to it and swing it to and fro. We'll try to hit the bear while he's swinging."
"That's the talk!" returned Dave, enthusiastically. "I'll get the rope!" And he ran off to the barn for it. Little did he dream of what trouble that swinging target was to make for himself and his chums.
Many of my old readers already know Dave Porter, but for the benefit of others a brief