No one knew better than Ward Hammond how essential it is in archery shooting to know the exact distance that is to be shot over. Hammond’s uneasiness seemed to communicate itself to other members of the Blue Mountain Athletic Club. “Get the tape measure,” Hammond commanded, addressing Craig Carter. Carter gave his bow and arrows to another member of the club and hurried into one of the cottages. From this cottage he was seen to rush into another and then another, and came back in a few moments with the announcement that the distance would have to be stepped, as somehow the tape measure had been mislaid and he could not find it. Harry Rattleton promptly drew a tape measure from one of his pockets. “You will find that this is as true as a die,” he asserted, smilingly passing it to Hammond. “Stretch it across the ground there, and I’ll help you do the measuring, if you’re willing.” “Certainly,” said Hammond, critically eying the tape. “You will do as well as any one.” Rattleton took one end of the line and ran with it out toward the target, and Hammond put the other on the ground. Rattleton marked the point, and Hammond moved up to it. “The distance is five yards too short,” Rattleton announced, when the measurement had been made. “This line is not right,” declared Hammond, white with inward rage. “Send to the village and get another, then,” said Merriwell. “A dozen if you like. Or take another look for your own.” “Of course we’ll set the target where you say it ought to be,” fumed Hammond, who had hoped to take a mean advantage, which had been prevented by the true eye of Frank Merriwell. What made the discovery so bitter to Hammond was the knowledge that he had injured the chances of himself and his friends in the contest, for they had done nearly all of their practicing at the false distance. His attempted cheating had recoiled on his own head. Craig Carter again took his bow and stepped forward to shoot. He held himself easily and gracefully and drew the arrow to the head with a steady hand. Whir-r-r—thud! The shaft, in its whirring course through the air, arose higher than the top of the target, but dropped lower just before it hit, and struck in the pad of twisted straw with a dull thud. “Five—in the blue!” called the marker, coming out from behind the tree where he had screened himself, and drawing the arrow from the target. “Heavens! Can’t I do better than that?” Carter growled. Sep Colson had the lists of the members of the two clubs, and he called Jack Diamond’s name next. Diamond stepped forward confidently and let his arrow fly. “In the blue—five!” announced the marker. “Well, it’s a tie, anyway!” said Diamond, with a disappointed laugh. “By chaowder, it ain’t so derned easy to hit that air thing as it might be!” drawled Gallup. “I think I’d stand a heap sight better show to strike gold with a shovel an’ pick in Alasky.”