Orme seemed not in the least disturbed.
We were now tied, but luck ran against us both for a time, since out of the next five I missed three and Orme two, and the odds again were against me.

It stood the same at thirty, and at thirty-five.

At forty the fortune of war once more favored me, for although Orme shot like a machine, with a grace and beauty of delivery I have never seen surpassed, he lost one bird stone dead over the line, carried out by a slant of the rising wind, which blew from left to right across the field.

Five birds farther on, yet another struggled over for him, and at sixty-five I had him back of me two birds.

The interest all along the line was now intense.