"Ah, that'll be some fun," remarked Paul, as they were leaving the mess-hall after the meal. "What?" asked Dick. "Target practice. There's a notice on the bulletin board that we're to have it right after the first study period. Are you a good shot?" "I used to be, but the guns here are heavier than I'm accustomed to. I don't believe I can do as well." "Oh, I guess you can. I hear that some of the third year lads can't do very extra." There were two target ranges at Kentfield, one for long distance shooting, in the open, and the other in a rifle pit, indoors. It was there that a number of the cadets and their officers assembled a little later. Toots, who was a sort of janitor about the pits, was on hand. "Ah, Toots, going to show us how to shoot to-day?" asked a student. "Sure," replied Sam. "I'll give you a few lessons. Lend me your gun." "Here you go, Tootsy old chap," added another cadet, passing over his rifle. As all the cadets had not yet arrived discipline was rather lax, and the officers made no objection. "Here's where I crack the bullseye first shot!" exclaimed Toots. He handled the gun as though he had long been used to it, and took quick aim. A sharp report followed, but there was no corresponding "ping" of the target to indicate a shot. "Ha! Ha! Toots, you missed it altogether," cried Russell Glen, a first-year and somewhat sporty student in Dick's class. "No, I didn't neither!" objected Sam. "It went clean through the target, that's why you didn't hear it. I'm a crack shot I am." He really appeared to believe it, and was much disappointed when the marker called back that the bullet had gone about a foot over the target. "Try again, Toots," said Glen. "I will. This time I'll go right in the center." Once more he fired, and the resulting laugh told that he had again missed. "I guess this is your off day," observed Captain Dutton. "Looks like it," remarked Toots ruefully, as he walked off, whistling "In a Prison Cell I Sit," and ending with the bugle call to charge. The target practice soon began, and Dick, to his own surprise, made a good score, getting forty-nine out of a possible fifty. "We have decided to have a practice march, around the lake, to-morrow," Major Webster announced to the cadets after target practice was over. "Fatigue uniforms of khaki will be worn, and the affair will last all day. Lunch will be taken in the field. You know the regulations, Captain Dutton, so inform your command of them, and be ready after reveille to-morrow." The major paused, Captain Dutton saluted, and his superior officer turned away, his sword clanking at his heels. "A practice march!" exclaimed Paul to Dick. "That will be sport." "It sure will," added Dick. "Silence in the ranks;" cried Dutton, in a dictatorial manner. "Lieutenant Stiver, watch Hamilton, I think he talks altogether too much." It was an unjust accusation, but Dick knew better than to answer back.