Four Boy Hunters | Page 2

ring," said Shep Reed. "That's not so bad but what it might be worse, Giant."
"Oh, it might be worse!" answered the small youth, coolly. "I might fire out of the window and kill somebody on the back street, or hit a duck in Rackson's pond. Here goes again."
The second shot was a little better, and the third made the bell ring, much to the small youth's delight.
"Hullo, you fellows!" came from the doorway, a lively boy of fourteen came in, curly hair dying and a cap set far back on his head. "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?"
"That's it!" cried the others.
"Have you fellows got a gun club?" came from the man who kept the shooting gallery, curiously.
"We've got something of that sort," answered the newly declared leader. "You see, we expect to go out on a hunting tour this fall and so we got together and called ourselves a gun club."
"The Fairview Gun Club," corrected Whopper. "Nothing like giving a title that looks like something, as the French Count said when he called himself a duke."
"Where is your club going?"
"Oh, just up in the mountains, back of Lake Cameron," answered Snap.
"Is the hunting good there?"
"Pretty fair---so old Jed Sanborn says."
"Well, I wish you luck. You boys are good enough shots to bring down almost anything," said the shooting gallery keeper.
"Come on up to our orchard and talk things over," said Snap, as he led the way from the gallery, and in a moment more the boys were on the Street and making their way to Mr. Dodge's apple orchard, a quarter of a mile from the center of the town. The other boys knew as well as Snap that there were some fine fall pippins in the orchard, and, like all growing lads, each loved a good apple.
The town of Fairview was not a large one. There was one main street and a side street running to the little depot, at which eight trains stopped daily. There were fifteen shops and stores, a hotel and three churches. The houses numbered less than a hundred in the town proper, although many others were located in the rich farming district close by. Fairview was situated on the Rocky River, which, ten miles below, flowed into a beautiful sheet of water called Lake Cameron. The town was noted for its natural beauty, and in the summertime not a few tourists stopped there.
One of the principal men of the community was Mr. Dodge, Charley's father. He was rich, but preferred to live on his farm instead of moving to the town or the city. He was a school trustee and also held an interest in the summer hotel and in one of the big saw mills on the river.
Sheppard Reed was the only son of a local physician, who, during the past twenty years, had built up a substantial practice in and around Fairview. Shep and Snap, as they were always called, were close chums, and once in a while their own folks would refer to them as the Twins.
Frank Dawson had moved to Fairview only two years before, but had become a general favorite among the boys. He had a habit of exaggerating most woefully, and this had gained for him the nickname of Whopper. From this it must not be inferred that Frank could not tell the truth, for, when it came to the pinch the lad was as truthful as anybody. His "whoppers" were always so big that everybody recognized them as such instantly.
Will Caslette, always called Billy or Giant, was the son of a French widow lady who had come to Fairview on the death of her husband, seven years before. The widow