“So do I, Sister; Davis is a bully good fellow, I think, and I’m sure he’d make a great brother,” added James before the girl could speak the words of expostulation which rushed to her lips. She crushed the roses to her breast and a shower of white petals fell to the floor. One fluttered against West’s hand, and he started as if a poisonous insect stung him. Mrs. West quickly saw the girl’s deep confusion and came to her aid, remarking that the two were rather hasty in their congratulations, which, as yet, were most inopportune. As Bess seated herself, she let the roses slide unheeded from her lap to the floor. Henry West stooped, lifted the now bruised and broken blossoms, and going into the living-room placed them upon the folded copy of _Mon Desir_, as gently and as reverently as if they were laid upon the silent breast of a lost and dead love. CHAPTER XVII BESS FLETCHER’S NEW GUN, AND ITS FIRST VICTIM West was standing near a tall pine tree, fastening a small square of white paper against it with a pin. James stood near, holding a 38 Smith and Wesson in his hands. Bess stood back some fifteen yards with a 22-caliber repeating rifle rested across her left arm. “She said she did, Henry,” said James as he lifted his eye-brows in a smile of incredulity. “Yes, I did yesterday—hit the mark, not only three but four times, if you please.” “Well, the test is at hand. You have to ‘show us’ Sister, before we can ‘deliver the goods.’” Twice had the pin dropped from West’s fingers, but the third attempt had securely fastened the target in place. “Now, then, Bess, three holes within an inch apart, and only three shots,” said West, as he stepped aside. James ran and concealed himself behind a tree, as if he really feared being shot. For a moment Bess stood still, lifted the gun, examined it to see that the cartridges were all right, adjusted the sights correctly, and then with a firm, decisive movement placed the weapon against her shoulder. A sharp report and one mark was recorded; the click of the lever and another shot, and then the third. She stood with the butt of the gun resting on her foot, as she watched eagerly as both boys hurried forward to view the record. Both were pointing and measuring and talking. She heard James say “not quite” and West replied “near enough.” “If it is not correct, I have lost,” said Bess, as she started towards the tree. She found two holes together and the third a little more than one inch to the left. “Take one more shot, Bess; I know you can hit it,” said West, as he assured himself that the gun was loaded and handed it back to the girl. Bess resumed her position, and the next shot cut directly between the other two, making one large mark on the paper.