Tom took his place at the end of the range, and began to adjust some valves and levers. In spite of the fact that the gun was larger than an ordinary rifle, it was not as heavy as the United States Army weapon. Tom aimed at the armor-plate, and, by means of an arrangement on the rifle, he could tell exactly when he was pointing at the scarecrow, even though he could not see it. "Here she goes!" he suddenly exclaimed. Ned watched his chum. The young inventor pressed a small button at the side of the rifle barrel, about where the trigger should have been. There was no sound, no smoke, no flame and not the slightest jar. Yet as Ned watched he saw the steel plate move slightly. The next instant the scarecrow figure seemed to fly all to pieces. There was a shower of straw, rags and old clothes, which fell in a shapeless heap at the end of the range. "Say. I guess you did for that fellow, all right!" exclaimed Ned. "It looks so," admitted Tom, with a note of pride in his voice. "Now we'll try another test." As he laid aside his rifle in order to help Mr. Jackson shift the steel plate there was a series of yells outside the shed. "What's that?" asked Tom, in some alarm. "Sounds like some one calling," answered Ned. "It is," agreed Mr. Jackson. "Perhaps Eradicate's mule has gotten loose. I guess we'd better--" He did not finish, for the shouts increased in volume, and Tom and Ned could hear some one yelling: "I'll have the law on you for this! I'll have you arrested, Tom Swift! What do you mean by trying to kill me? Where are you? Don't try to hide away, now. You were trying to shoot me, and I'm not going to have it!" Some one pounded on the door of the shed. "It's Barney Moker!" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder what can have happened?" CHAPTER III A DIFFICULT TEST Tom Swift opened the door of the improvised rifle gallery and looked out. By the light of a full moon, which shone down from a cloudless sky, he saw a man standing at the portal. The man's face was distorted with rage, and he shook his fist at the young inventor. "What do you mean by shooting at me?" he demanded. "What do you mean, I say? The idea of scaring honest folks out of their wits, and making 'em think the end of the world has come! What do you mean by it? Why don't you answer me? I say, Tom Swift, why don't you answer me?" "Because you don't give me a chance, Mr. Moker," replied our hero. "I want to know why you shot at me? I demand to know!" and Mr. Moker, who was a sort of miserly town character, living all alone in a small house, just beyond Tom's home, again shook his fist almost in the lad's face. "Why don't you tell me? Why don't you tell me?" he shouted. "I will, if you give me a chance!" fairly exploded Tom. "If you can be cool for five minutes, and come inside and tell me what happened I'll be glad to answer any of your questions, Mr. Moker. I didn't shoot at you." "Yes, you did! You tried to shoot a hole through me!"