“That reminds me,” broke in Dick Wilson.

“It’s your turn, Dick,” interrupted Rand, as Dick, stepping in front of the target, after much careful aiming, shot his arrow close beside Pepper’s.

“Shure Oi wouldn’t have belaved av Oi hadn’t seen it,” remarked Gerald, who had cautiously ventured back.

This was some days later than the events recorded in the previous chapters, since which time, Rand had been selected as leader and Don as corporal, while Gerald, from his fun-loving proclivities, had been named the “Patrol’s jester.”

The mystery surrounding the robbery had not been cleared up, and was a frequent subject for conversation.  Monkey Rae had not been seen about.

They had met upon this occasion for archery practice on the lawn in front of Mr. Scott’s residence, where Rand was living.  Immediately upon the formation of the Patrol Mr. Scott, who was one of the patrons of the Scout organization, had presented each member with a fine English bow and quiver of arrows, in the proper method of using which they were being instructed by Colonel Snow.

They were all dressed in the Scout uniform, which they wore when on Scout duty or out on an expedition, and were not a little proud of the fact that each one had bought his uniform with money earned by himself, the first money that some of them had ever earned.  This the boys had done in various ways, each according to his own fancy, such as going errands, selling papers, working in stores and shops, etc.  They were also provided with small bugle horns, upon which they had learned to sound various signals and calls.

“Now, Rand,” said Donald, “show us how to do it.”

“If I can,” answered Rand, taking position in front of the target.  “As good Hubert said:  ‘A man can but do his best.’”

Drawing back his bow to the full length of the arrow, with a quick glance at the target, he let fly the arrow, which whistled through the air and struck fair on the outer edge of the bull’s-eye.

“A rare good shot, Master Locksley,” said a laughing voice, and Rand turned to meet a frank-faced lad of his own age in the Scout uniform, who wore a first class scout’s badge, and who gave the Scout salute as he stepped forward.

“Cans’t thou mend it, brave yeoman,” replied Rand in the language of Robin Hood’s day, in which the other had spoken, returning the salute.

“I doubt it much,” returned the newcomer, taking the bow which Rand had offered and stretching it the length of his arm.  “A good bow and worthy of your skill.  With your permission I will essay a shot.”

“Rather we crave the favor,” answered Rand, extending his quiver to the stranger, who carefully selecting an arrow, fitted it to the bow.  Then drawing the bow back the full length of the arrow he measured the distance with his eye, and, loosing the string, the arrow sped straight to the center of the bull’s-eye.