been from its lonely and dilapidated appearance a hundred years old.
On a little knoll carpeted with velvety grass sat Isaac and his Indian bride.

He had selected this vantage point because it afforded a fine view of the
green square where the races and the matches were to take place. Admiring

women stood around him and gazed at his wife. They gossiped in whispers about
her white skin, her little hands, her beauty. The girls stared with wide open

and wondering eyes. The youngsters ran round and round the little group; they
pushed each other over, and rolled in the long grass, and screamed with

delight
It was to be a gala occasion and every man, woman and child in the settlement

had assembled on the green. Col. Zane and Sam were planting a post in the
center of the square. It was to be used in the shooting matches. Capt. Boggs

and Major McColloch were arranging the contestants in order. Jonathan Zane,
Will Martin, Alfred Clarke--all the young men were carefully charging and

priming their rifles. Betty was sitting on the black stallion which Col. Zane
had generously offered as first prize. She was in the gayest of moods and had

just coaxed Isaac to lift her on the tall horse, from which height she
purposed watching the sports. Wetzel alone did not seem infected by the spirit

of gladsomeness which pervaded. He stood apart leaning on his long rifle and
taking no interest in the proceedings behind him. He was absorbed in

contemplating the forest on the opposite shore of the river.
"Well, boys, I guess we are ready for the fun," called Col. Zane, cheerily.

"Only one shot apiece, mind you, except in case of a tie. Now, everybody shoot
his best."

The first contest was a shooting match known as "driving the nail." It was as
the name indicated, nothing less than shooting at the head of a nail. In the

absence of a nail--for nails were scarce--one was usually fashioned from a
knife blade, or an old file, or even a piece of silver. The nail was driven

lightly into the stake, the contestants shot at it from a distance as great as
the eyesight permitted. To drive the nail hard and fast into the wood at one

hundred yards was a feat seldom accomplished. By many hunters it was deemed
more difficult than "snuffing the candle," another border pastime, which

consisted of placing in the dark at any distance a lighted candle, and then
putting out the flame with a single rifle ball. Many settlers, particularly

those who handled the plow more than the rifle, sighted from a rest, and
placed a piece of moss under the rife-barrel to prevent its spring at the

discharge.
The match began. Of the first six shooters Jonathan Zane and Alfred Clarke

scored the best shots. Each placed a bullet in the half-inch circle round the
nail.

"Alfred, very good, indeed," said Col. Zane. "You have made a decided
improvement since the last shooting-match."

Six other settlers took their turns. All were unsuccessful in getting a shot
inside the little circle. Thus a tie between Alfred and Jonathan had to be

decided.
"Shoot close, Alfred," yelled Isaac. "I hope you beat him. He always won from

me and then crowed over it."
Alfred's second shot went wide of the mark, and as Jonathan placed another

bullet in the circle, this time nearer the center, Alfred had to acknowledge
defeat.

"Here comes Miller," said Silas Zane. "Perhaps he will want a try."
Col. Zane looked round. Miller had joined the party. He carried his rifle and

accoutrements, and evidently had just returned to the settlement. He nodded
pleasantly to all.

"Miller, will you take a shot for the first prize, which I was about to award
to Jonathan?" said Col. Zane.

"No. I am a little late, and not entitled to a shot. I will take a try for the
others," answered Miller.

At the arrival of Miller on the scene Wetzel had changed his position to one
nearer the crowd. The dog, Tige, trotted closely at his heels. No one heard

Tige's low growl or Wetzel's stern word to silence him. Throwing his arm over
Betty's pony, Wetzel apparently watched the shooters. In reality he studied

intently Miller's every movement.
"I expect some good shooting for this prize," said Col. Zane, waving a

beautifully embroidered buckskin bullet pouch, which was one of Betty's
donations.

Jonathan having won his prize was out of the lists and could compete no more.
This entitled Alfred to the first shot for second prize. He felt he would give

anything he possessed to win the daintytrifle which the Colonel had waved
aloft. Twice he raised his rifle in his exceedingearnestness to score a good

shot and each time lowered the barrel. When finally he did shoot the bullet
embedded itself in the second circle. It was a good shot, but he knew it would

never win that prize.
"A little nervous, eh?" remarked Miller, with a half sneer on his swarthy

face.
Several young settlers followed in succession, but their aims were poor. Then

little Harry Bennet took his stand. Harry had won many prizes in former
matches, and many of the pioneers considered him one of the best shots in the

country
"Only a few more after you, Harry," said Col. Zane. "You have a good chance."

"All right, Colonel. That's Betty's prize and somebody'll have to do some
mighty tall shootin' to beat me," said the lad, his blue eyes flashing as he

toed the mark.
Shouts and cheers of approval greeted his attempt. The bullet had passed into

the wood so close to the nail that a knife blade could not have been inserted
between.

Miller's turn came next. He was a fine marksman and he knew it. With the
confidence born of long experience and knowledge of his weapon, he took a

careful though quick aim and fired. He turned away satisfied that he would
carry off the coveted prize. He had nicked the nail.

But Miller reckoned without his host. Betty had seen the result of his shot
and the self-satisfied smile on his face. She watched several of the settlers

make poor attempts at the nail, and then, convinced that not one of the other
contestants could do so well as Miller, she slipped off the horse and ran

around to where Wetzel was standing by her pony.
"Lew, I believe Miller will win my prize," she whispered, placing her hand on

the hunter's arm. "He has scratched the nail, and I am sure no one except you
can do better. I do not want Miller to have anything of mine."

"And, little girl, you want me to shoot fer you," said Lewis.
"Yes, Lew, please come and shoot for me."

It was said of Wetzel that he never wasted powder. He never entered into the
races and shooting-matches of the settlers, yet it was well known that he was

the fleetest runner and the most unerring shot on the frontier. Therefore, it
was with surprise and pleasure that Col. Zane heard the hunter say he guessed

he would like one shot anyway.
Miller looked on with a grim smile. He knew that, Wetzel or no Wetzel, it

would take a remarkably clever shot to beat his.
"This shot's for Betty," said Wetzel as he stepped to the mark. He fastened

his keen eyes on the stake. At that distance the head of the nail looked like
a tiny black speck. Wetzel took one of the locks of hair that waved over his

broad shoulders and held it up in front of his eyes a moment. He thus
ascertained that there was not any perceptiblebreeze. The long black barrel

started slowly to rise--it seemed to the interested onlookers that it would
never reach a level and when, at last. it became rigid, there was a single

second in which man and rifle appeared as if carved out of stone. Then
followed a burst of red flame, a puff of white smoke, a clear ringing report.

Many thought the hunter had missed altogether. It seemed that the nail had not
changed its position; there was no bullet hole in the white lime wash that had

been smeared round the nail. But on close inspection the nail was found to
have been driven to its head in the wood.

"A wonderful shot!" exclaimed Col. Zane. "Lewis, I don't remember having seen
the like more than once or twice in my life."

Wetzel made no answer. He moved away to his former position and commenced to
reload his rifle. Betty came running up to him, holding in her hand the prize

bullet pouch.
"Oh, Lew, if I dared I would kiss you. It pleases me more for you to have won