“You pet yourselluf der v’ite vill hid me so many as sixdeen dimes alretty!” cried Hans, stung by the sneer. Hammond struck the gold again, but Merriwell got only the red. Twice this was repeated; after which Merriwell put his arrow in the gold three times in succession, while Hammond dropped to the red, and once to the blue, which last counted only five. It quickly developed that there were good archers on both sides, and the contest waxed hot. Diamond, Rattleton and Gallup shot well, as did also Colson and Tetlow. Six times the yellow-haired, big-jointed boy from Vermont put his arrow in the gold, though he faced the target so awkwardly that it did not seem possible he could handle a bow at all. As for Browning, he had been left at the camp, muffled up in a blanket and in the grip of another chill. “I didn’t learn to knock the sparrers out o’ dad’s old barn with a bow an’ arrer fer nuthin’!” Gallup grinned, when some one praised his marksmanship. In addition to Ward Hammond, Craig Carter, of the Blue Mountain boys, shot excellently, as did also Dan Matlock and some half dozen others. The contest grew hotter and hotter. The club scores—the average scores of the combined membership of each club—ran very evenly, and as the shoot drew toward its close, the count of the club scores showed five in favor of the boys of Lake Lily, with Ward Hammond’s score three more than Merriwell’s, and the best that had been made. “Don’t l’ave him bate yez, Merry, me b’y!” Barney Mulloy whispered. “You may be sure I’ll do my best, Barney,” responded Merriwell, compressing his lips as he stepped again to the line and took up the bow. “Seven—in the red!” cried the marker. Then, as Ward Hammond followed: “Nine—in the gold!” There were only three more rounds, twenty-one of the twenty-four rounds of the contest having been shot. “Here are the leading scores, as revised after that last shoot,” announced the youth who kept the score card, reading from the card, while the excited and anxious lads gathered closely about him. “Ward Hammond, 145; Frank Merriwell, 140.” The Blue Mountain boys swung their caps and sent up a cheer of delight. Again Frank faced the target and let his arrow fly. “Nine—in the gold!” came the voice of the marker. “Good boy!” cried Harry Rattleton. “That gives you one hundred and forty-nine. Do it another time.” Frank Merriwell did it another time; and when the marker called “nine,” Ward Hammond became noticeably rattled, for he had made only seven in the previous shot. Hammond’s hands were seen to shake as he drew on the bowstring, and when the marker called, “only five—in the blue,” his dark face grew almost colorless. “One more round,” said the score marker. “Frank Merriwell now has 158; Ward Hammond, 157.” The excitement was at fever pitch as Merriwell again went forward to shoot.