“Splendid things,” said Mark, stroking the stock of the gun, which he now carried on his shoulder, as if it had been a breathing pet that could appreciate his affection. “This is a curious groove,” said Bevis, looking at the score in the bark of the teak where Mark’s bullet had struck it. “Look, it goes a little round; the bullet stuck to the tree and went a little way round, instead of just coming straight, so.” “So it did,” said Mark. “It curved round the tree.” “My arrow would have glanced off just the other way,” said Bevis, “if it had hit here.” “The ball goes one way and the arrow the other.” “One sticks to the tree as long as it can and the other shoots aside directly.” Bullets have been known in like manner to strike a man’s head in the front part and score a track half round it, and even then not do much injury. “We ought to keep the gun loaded,” said Mark, as they reached the hut. “Yes; but it ought to be slung up, and not put anywhere where it might be knocked over.” “Let’s make some slings for it.” After loading the gun this time with a charge of shot, and ramming it home with the brass ramrod--Mark enjoyed using the ramrod too much to hurry over it--they set to work and drove two stout nails into the uprights on the opposite side to the bed. To one of these nails a loop of cord was fastened; to the other a similar piece was tied at one end, the other had a lesser loop, so as to take on or off the nail. When off it hung down, when on it made a loop like the other. The barrel of the gun was put through the first loop, and the stock then held up while the other piece of cord was hitched to its nail, when the long gun hung suspended. “It looks like a hunter’s hut now,” said Bevis, contemplating the matchlock. “I’ll put my bow in the corner.” He leaned his bow in the corner, and put a sheaf of arrows by it. “My spear will go here,” said Mark. “No,” said Bevis. “Put the spear by the bed-head.” “Ready for use in the night?” “Yes; put a knobstick too. That’s it. Now look.” “Doesn’t it look nice?” “Just doesn’t it!” “Real hunting.” “Real as real.” “If Val, and Cecil, and Ted could see!” “And Charlie.” “They would go wild.” “The store-room _is_ a muddle.” “Shall we put it straight?” “And get things ship-shape?” “Yes.” They began to assort the heaped-up mass of things in the cave, putting tools on one side, provisions on the other, and odd things in the centre. After awhile Mark looked up at his watch. “Why, it’s past five! Tea time at home.” “I don’t know,” said Bevis. “I expect the time’s different--it’s longitude.” “We are hours later, then?” “While it’s tea time here, it’s breakfast there.” “When we go to bed, they get up. Here’s the astrolabe. Take the observation.” “So I will.” The sun was lower now, just over the tops of the trees. Bevis hung the circle to the gate-post of the stockade and moved the tube till he could see the sun through it. It read 20 degrees on the graduated disc.