"Well done, Pepper!" cried Rand, as the former, drawing back a stout bow nearly as tall as himself, let fly an arrow that struck in the third circle of the target set up at the opposite end of the green.

"'Tis a promising laddie ye are," commented Gerald Moore after a preliminary flourish of his bugle. "Ave ye live to be a hundhred and don't lave aff practice 'tis a foine shot ye'll be, I dunno."

"Let's see what you can do," retorted Pepper, with a laugh. "I don't believe you can better it."

"Begorrah, Oi don't belave it mesilf," replied Gerald, shooting an arrow that struck just on the outer edge of the target. "Faith, 'twas a narrow escape Oi made, and it's toime Oi was making another," starting off on a run as the others made for him.

"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.

With one accord the boys put their bugles to their lips and sounded the Scout salute.

"By my faith," cried Rand, in generous admiration of the other's skill, "'twas a noble shot and well placed. You might be the bold Robin himself returned."

"It was but a chance shot that I might not be able to repeat," returned the other modestly. "But I was a member of an archery club in our place and that brings me to my errand here. You are Randolph Peyton, leader of the Uncas Patrol, if I am not mistaken. I was told in the town that I would find you here."

"That is my name," replied Rand.

"My name is Wat Watson," announced the other with a smile. "It is an alterative sort of a name, but all I have. I have here," presenting a paper to Rand, "a challenge from the Highpoint Patrol."

"A challenge!" exclaimed Rand. "Not for an archery contest, I hope, or we are beaten before we begin. Master Watson, permit me to present Don Graeme, Jack Blake and his brother, Pepper, Dick Wilson, and last, but not least in his own estimation, Gerald Moore."

"I am heartily glad to meet you all," said Wat, shaking hands all around, "and hope I may often have the pleasure."

"The same to you," responded the boys.

"And may you live to be a hundred," added Gerald, "and may Oi be wid ye."

The paper which Nat had brought and which Rand had opened, ran:

"To the Uncas Patrol, Greeting:

"The Highpoint Patrol, of the Boy Scouts, hereby challenges the Uncas Patrol to a contest for the Scout championship of the Hudson, to be rowed by crews selected from said patrols, at such time and place as may be hereafter agreed upon.

"HIGHPOINT PATROL. JACK DUDLEY, Leader. TOM BROWN, Corporal."

"Well, boys, what do you say?" asked Rand, when he had finished reading the challenge. "After the prowess exhibited by their messenger, do you think we dare accept?" Whereupon there arose a babble of voices in which all sorts of opinions were expressed.

"Shure they can't bate us more than three miles," concluded Gerald.

"Then I suppose we may accept," said Rand.

"Shall I so report?" asked Wat.

"You can report that the challenge has been received and that we will send our answer by messenger."

"Thank you," replied Wat, "and now I must be off. Be sure and come and see us; we will try and treat you right."

"There can't be any doubt of that," replied Rand. "But, just a moment," as Mrs. Peyton appeared on the green with a tray of cakes. She was followed by a maid with a pail of lemonade.

"Isn't it time for a feast and a war dance or something?" she asked.

"We have just been having a pow-wow," replied Rand, "and our throats are dry with much talking. We have just concluded a treaty with the tribe of Highpoint and are ready for the feast of amity."

Wat would have declined to join in the festivities, but the boys were importunate, and the next half-hour was spent in an interchange of talk, in which the words: Scouts, patrol, tests, boats, were of frequent occurrence, and during which the cake and lemonade vanished as quickly as snowflakes in July, after which the Uncas escorted the messenger for a distance on his way, finally bidding him good-by with three cheers and a flourish on their bugles.