Part 45 (1/2)

”Anybody going to stay on guard?” asked the senator's son.

”Do you think it necessary, Roger?”

”I don't know.”

”What do you say, Phil?”

”I am too sleepy now to remain on guard,” answered Phil. ”You can do so if you wish.”

”Oh, what cheek!” murmured Roger. ”All right, we'll all turn in and chance it.”

”Let's fix the fire first,” said Dave. ”A blaze usually helps to keep away wild beasts.”

”Oh, if any come, I reckon the horses will give us warning,” said Phil.

”We can tie them close by.” And this plan was carried out.

Some cedar boughs had been strewn on the floor of the tent, and on these the chums laid down, and did their best to go to sleep. Dave dropped off first, and was presently followed by Roger. But Phil was restless and turned from one side to the other.

”Oh, pshaw! why can't I sleep?” murmured the s.h.i.+powner's son to himself in disgust, and then out of curiosity he looked at his watch. By the glare from the campfire he saw that it was nearly one o'clock.

He was just straightening out again when a peculiar rustling among the horses caught his ears. He listened for a moment, then sat up straight.

”Something doesn't suit them,” he reasoned. ”Wonder what it can be?”

He hesitated, then turned over on his hands and knees and crawled to the opening of the tent and peered around outside. The campfire had burned rather low, so that objects a short distance away were indistinct. He saw that the horses were huddled together and had their heads turned toward a clump of bushes at one side of the shelter.

”Something must be over yonder,” reasoned the youth. ”Wonder if I had better arouse the others?”

He looked at Dave and Roger. Both were sleeping so peacefully Phil hated to disturb them. He reached for his gun and looked out again.

There was a brus.h.i.+ng aside of the clump of bushes and a pair of eyes glared forth, glistening brightly in the firelight. The eyes were those of some wild beast, but what, Phil could not tell.

The animal was not looking at Phil, but at the carca.s.s of the deer, which had been hung up in a low tree not far from the clump of bushes.

Stealthily the animal came into the opening, and with the ease of a cat, leaped into the tree.

”It's a wildcat--or something like it,” thought Phil, and raised his gun to fire. Then of a sudden he commenced to shake from head to foot, so that to aim was entirely out of the question. He had what is commonly called among hunters ”buck fever,” a sudden fear that often overtakes amateur hunters when trying to shoot at big game.

”Oh, what a fool I am!” the boy told himself, and tried vainly to steady his nerves. He hit the front tent pole with his foot, making considerable noise.

”What's the matter?” cried Dave, waking and leaping to his feet. ”What are you doing, Phil?”

”Noth--nothing,” stammered the s.h.i.+powner's son. ”I--I--there is something in the tree!” And then, raising his gun, Phil banged away blindly.

The echo of the shot was followed by an unearthly scream from the tree, and Phil and Dave saw the wild animal slip down from a branch and then try to regain its footing. Then Dave caught up one of the rifles and blazed away, and the beast dropped to the ground, where it twisted and snarled and yelped in a fas.h.i.+on that served to drive the horses frantic.

”What's going on?” cried Roger, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. ”Who is shooting?” And he got up and felt around in a haphazard manner for a gun.

”Wild animal outside--I don't know what it is,” answered Dave.

Roger joined the others, and blazed away at the beast, and more snapping and snarling followed. The animal rolled clear over the fire, scattering the burning brands in all directions. Then it rolled among the horses. One steed after another kicked at it, and a flying hoof sent it against the tree with a thud. Then it lay quiet.