Part 13 (1/2)

”I suppose we ought to understand something more about the habits of the deer, so that we would know what course he would be likely to take.

We could then get there ahead of him and fire as soon as he gave us a chance.”

”Well,” added Sam, with a sigh, ”he seems to have taken the route we were going to follow to hunt the bear, so we may as well tramp along. We may get a glimpse of a buffalo or elephant next.”

The baying of the hound had ceased, and, though the boys often stopped and listened, they heard nothing more of it.

”I guess he has caught the deer,” said Herbert, who showed a desire to speak well of Bowser since he had failed to shoot him, ”and is waiting for us.”

But Sam shook his head; he knew the canine too well to believe him capable of such an exploit as that.

”I don't think he ever ran down anything yet, unless it was a chicken or cat--hallo!”

At that moment the subject of their conversation appeared on the scene, approaching as quietly as though the boys were sheep that he wished to surprise.

He slouched along with a lazy, tired gait, his tongue out, and dripping with perspiration, while he panted as though he had been on the severest chase of his life, which most likely was the fact.

He lay down at the feet of Sam Harper, and, stretching out his paws, rested his head between them as much as to say, ”Gentlemen, I have had enough of this sport, and resign; you will now carry it on without my a.s.sistance.”

”He is tired out, and I don't wonder,” said Sam, stooping over and patting the head of the hound; ”he ain't used to deer hunting, and don't know much more about it than do we.”

”Then he don't know anything,” was the truthful observation of Nick Ribsam.

”It's my opinion that it's best to give up hunting that particular deer until we learn a little more about the right way to do it.”

CHAPTER XVI.

THE DINNER IN THE WOODS.

By this time it was close to the hour of noon, and the young hunters were hungry. They had brought no lunch with them, for that would have been an admission that they doubted their own ability to provide food for themselves in a country abounding with game.

Nick Ribsam had a paper of salt and pepper mixed, with which to season their dinner as soon as it should be secured.

The common red squirrels, or chickarees, were so plentiful that they were nearly always in sight, and, without moving from where they stood, the lads descried several running along the limbs of the trees.

”Let each of us shoot one,” said Sam, walking forth to get a better aim at a fellow perched high on the branch of a large oak.

Slowly bringing his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim, and the game came tumbling through the leaves to the ground, his head punctured by the cruel bullet. Bowser started at a lazy walk to bring the body in, but Sam stopped him and picked it up himself.

”I think I will take _that_ one,” said Herbert, indicating a squirrel which was nearer than the others. It was sitting in the crotch of a tree, nigh enough to be struck with a stone flung by a skillful thrower.

The other two watched his actions with some interest as he raised the handsome breech-loader. He took a long and deliberate aim, and gave a grunt the instant he pulled the trigger, and the sharp report broke the stillness of the woods.

Nick and Sam laughed, for the frightened rodent scampered up the tree and ran out upon a heavy branch, where he whisked from sight and then back again, chattering in such a lively fas.h.i.+on that it was plain he had suffered no inconvenience from the bullet sent after him.

”Well, I'll be hanged!” exclaimed the chagrined Herbert, ”I don't understand how that came about.”