Dan took his place and fired. He missed. Sam followed, a few numbers later, and he also missed. But when it came the turn of Louis Flink he made a bull's-eye the first shot. Flink favored the two boys with a sarcastic grin as he stepped aside to give the next man a chance.

The Battleship Boys had adjusted their sights in the meantime, and with their next shots they, too, each made a bull's-eye. When the five rounds had been fired it was found that Flink was one point ahead of them.

The lads were disgusted with themselves. On the following day the score was the same; that is, each of the two boys made center every time and so did Flink. Their only hope now was that he might make a miss, but this he evidently had no intention of doing, for he shot with rare judgment and coolness.

"I've got a good notion to break him up by saying something to him to-morrow," Sam confided to his companion that night.

"I should be ashamed of you, if you did," rebuked Dan.

"Ashamed of me? Why?"

"Because it would be an unsportsmanlike and a cowardly trick. If we cannot outshoot Blinkers, as you call him, we shall take our medicine like men. It seems he's the better man at the b.u.t.ts."

The last day of the target practice arrived. It was Sat.u.r.day morning when the boys started out for the shooting grounds. The targets stood out strong and clear in the morning sunlight, against the big mound of earth before which they had been placed. By this time the shooting of the three boys had aroused no little interest among the others of the apprentices, and even the officers began to feel more than ordinary interest, for such shooting was not usual among the rookies in their early days.

The range had now been extended to three hundred yards. It was safe to predict that the story of the week would be changed at this range.

The firing began almost at once, the men with lower scores competing first, it having been decided to let the three leaders take their turns at the b.u.t.ts after the others had finished.

"Keep your eyes open," suggested Dan. "Get your range well, for we mustn't miss a shot to-day."

"We're beaten anyway," complained Sam.

"Stop it. You're a fine sailor, you are. We are not beaten. We are never beaten until the last shot has been fired, and even then we won't run up any white flag. See that Flag over there?"

"What flag?"

"The one on the staff-the Stars and Stripes."

"Sure."

"Well just imagine you are under that, and that those targets over against the hill are enemies shooting at the Flag. What would you do to them?"

"You know what I would do to them if I could-I'd put them every one out of business."

"That's the talk! Well, they are enemies-our enemies. You must put them out of business."

"All right; I'm it. I'll drill them in the eyes. You watch me when I go to bat."

The firing, which had been going on for the past hour, suddenly ceased.

"Leaders shoot off scores," came the command.

"It's our turn," nodded Dan. "Keep cool."

"I'm as cool as the hot sun will allow me to be, but I wish they would let me take off my jacket. I'll ask them."

"No, no, no," protested Dan.

"Flink take your place."

The dark-faced Pennsylvanian, a confident smile on his face, took his place toeing the mark. He took careful aim, pulled the trigger and lowered his weapon to his waist line.

"Bull's-eye," wig-wagged the signal man at the b.u.t.ts.

"Davis!" called the officer in charge.

Dan stepped to the mark, stood for a moment gazing off at the range.

Then, raising his gun, he took aim and fired without loss of time. The onlookers thought he had missed, for his shot was apparently carelessly executed.

"Bull's-eye," came back the wig-wag signal.

A number of officers of the post had gathered to see the shooting, and a murmur of comment ran over the little throng.

"Hickey!"

"To the bat!" muttered Sam under his breath, taking his place. Hickey took long and careful aim, lowered his gun for a free look at the target then raised the weapon again. At last he fired.

He too, made a bull's-eye.

One round had been fired and without a single miss on the part of any one of the three contestants. This was continued for three more rounds with no change in the result.

Excitement ran high. Nearly every apprentice on the grounds was hoping that either the red-haired boy or his companion might win. Flink had few admirers, though all gave him full credit for what he had accomplished so far in the contest.

This time Dan was called to the mark first, the officer in charge varying the routine for some reason of his own.

Dan scored a bull's-eye.

Flink came next. This time he shot with less caution than before, and missed. Sam, however, made a bull's-eye.

"Tied, sir. Shall they shoot it off?" asked the quartermaster, saluting the commandant of the station.

"Shoot it off," was the reply.

"Aye, aye, sir. Leaders take their places for another round."

Flink was called to the mark first. He was plainly nervous. Perhaps his nervousness was not lessened by the glimpse he caught of Sam Hickey's face. Sam was grinning broadly, but he could not be accused of attempting to interfere with Flink, because he was not looking at him.

Sam was looking at Dan at that particular moment.

Flink took his sight, then pulled the trigger with a nervous finger.

"Miss," came the wig-wag signal.

Dan took his place and fired. He made a bull's-eye.

Sam came next. As before he took a great deal of time in preparation.

"He's posing," muttered Dan. "He might better attend to his business."