FRIENDS OF THE DEER
"Yes, its a buck," announced Tom, as a shout from the camp told that
one of the other scouts had also discovered the swimming animal.
"Whew! there come the dogs along the shore!" cried Felix, pointing as
he spoke to where a number of swiftly-moving objects could be seen.
"They've taken to the water after the deer!" exclaimed Josh.
"It'll be a shame if they manage to catch up with the poor thing in the
pond!" Felix declared; "we ought to break that game up somehow. Isn't
there a way?"
"If we had a canoe instead of a log we might get between, and keep the
dogs back," he was told by the patrol leader; "but I'm afraid we'll
never be able to make it at this rate."
Felix had started paddling furiously even while the other was speaking.
The novel craft began to move through the water much faster than at any
previous time. It was really surprising how much speed it could show,
when driven by that stout, if homely, paddle, held in the hands of a
muscular and excited scout.
Tom gave directions as though he were the pilot, and while the swimming
buck certainly saw them approaching he must have considered that these
human enemies were not to be feared one-half as much as those merciless
hounds following after him, for he swerved very little.
"We're going to cut in between the deer and the dogs after all, boys!"
cried the delighted Josh, who was bending his body with every movement
of the paddler, as though he hoped to be able in that fashion to assist
the drive.
"It's a pity we didn't think to bring another paddle along!" was Tom's
comment, "for that would have added considerably to our progress."
As it was, however, they managed to intervene between the hounds and
the frightened buck. Josh waved both arms, and shouted threateningly at
the eager dogs. They possibly did not know what to make of it, for as a
rule their masters probably tempted them to chase a deer even with the
law against hounding in force.
"Keep back there, you greedy curs!" yelled Josh; and as Tom and Felix
joined in the shouting, the last mentioned also waving his flashing
paddle, the swimming dogs came to a pause.
Whenever they made a start as though intending to sweep past the log on
which the three scouts were perched, Felix, waiting for some such move,
paddled vigorously to head them off. This series of obstructive
tactics, coupled with the demonstration made by the other boys, served
to keep the hounds in check for a certain length of time.
"There, he's made the shore across on the other side of the pond!"
announced Tom.
Looking that way the boys saw the harried buck hasten out of the
shallow water. He turned once on the very edge to give a single glance
back toward the baffled dogs, still swimming aimlessly about, and
yapping in defeat, then leaped lightly into the undergrowth and
vanished from sight.
"Good-bye!" shouted Josh, waving his hand after the rescued deer, "and
good luck!"
The dogs by this time had managed to flank the obstruction.
"No use chasing after them any more, Felix," said Tom; "I think the
deer has a good lead on them now, and will easily make his escape."
They watched the pack swim to the shore, and noted that they came out
at some little distance from the spot where the buck had left the
water.
"That's going to delay them still more," announced Tom; "they've lost
the scent, and will have to chase up and down hunting for it."
Sure enough the hounds ran first one way with their noses to the
ground, then doubled back. It was several minutes before a triumphant
yelp announced that they had finally struck the lost trail.
"There they go with a rush!" said Josh, as the pack was seen to start
off, following the course taken by the deer.
Their eager yelps became less distinct as they skirted around the foot
of Big Bear Mountain.
"Well, that was a queer happening, wasn't it?" said Tom, as they
prepared to resume their fishing, which had been so singularly
interrupted.
"It'll make an interesting event for your note book, Tom," declared
Felix.
"A deer is seldom seen around this region," Josh ventured to say;
"which makes our luck all the more remarkable. I wouldn't have missed
that sight for a good deal!"
"I saw Stanley Ackerman using his camera, so let's hope he got a bunch
of snapshots that'll show the whole circus," Felix announced.
"How about allowing dogs to roam the woods up here, Tom; isn't it
against the law in this State nowadays?" Josh asked.
"It certainly is," he was informed. "For a good many years chasing deer
with hounds, and using a jack-light at nights to get them, has been
strictly forbidden. Time was when packs of hounds used to be met with
in plenty. Men would start out and hunt deer that way. Then the papers
took it up, and showed the cruelty of the so-called sport, and it was
abolished."
"According to the law anybody is allowed to shoot dogs caught in the
act of running deer, especially in the summer time; isn't that right,
Tom?"
"Yes, that's what we would have had a perfect right to do if we'd had a
gun along. But I don't believe that pack belonged to any one man. They
are dogs that have gone wild, and having gathered together in the
woods, live by hunting."
"I've heard that dogs do go back to the old wolf strain sometimes,"
Josh admitted; "and now that you mention it, Tom, there was a wild look
about every one of the beasts. I even thought they had half a notion to
attack us at one time; but the way Felix kept that paddle flashing
through the air cowed them, I guess."
The fishing was resumed, though all this racket seemed to have caused
the bass to cease taking hold for some time. By skirting the more
distant shores, close to where the water grass and reeds grew, they
finally struck a good ground, and were amply rewarded for the efforts
put forth.
"I think the bass must have their beds on this shoal here," said Tom,
when they paddled back over the place at which success had come to
them. "It's early in the season as yet, and a lot of them are still
around here. They haven't gone out into deep water with their
newly-hatched young ones."
"Is that what they do?" asked Felix, who was not as much of a fisherman
as either of his chums.
"Well, not immediately after the eggs hatch," Tom told him. "The mother
bass is going to keep her swarm of little ones in shallow water, and
guard them until they get to a certain size. Then she darts in among
them, scatters the whole lot, after which she is done with them. They
have reached an age when they must take their chances."
When finally about noon the three came ashore, rather stiff from having
straddled that log for such a length of time, they had a pretty fine
string of fish, two of them in fact.
The talk as they ate their mid-day meal was along the subject of deer
hunting, and Tom as well as Josh had to tell all about it, as far as
they knew.
Stanley declared he had made good use of his camera, and hoped the
results would come up to expectations. All of them united in saying
that it had been an adventure worth while; and apparently their
sympathies were wholly with the gallant buck, for they expressed a
fervent hope that he would succeed in outrunning his canine enemies.
Somehow in the course of the conversation mention was made of Tony
Pollock and his crowd.
"I heard Tony tell a story of having seen a deer pulled down somewhere
in the forest last fall by a pack of ugly dogs," related George Cooper.
"At the time I believed he was only yarning, though he vowed black and
blue it was so. He said the dogs looked and acted so ugly that he
thought it best to clear out before they turned on him."
"Like as not this same pack," remarked Tom. "They say that once a dog
has taken to that savage sort of life nothing can ever coax him to go
back to living with mankind again. It's in the blood, that call of the
wild."
"Well," chuckled Josh, "we know of another kind of call of the wild
that's going to be heard in the land pretty soon, when Farmer Sile
Perkins faces Tony. He will demand double pay for the chickens Tony and
his crowd stole, on penalty of his being arrested if he doesn't whack
up. Oh I can just see Tony begin to crawl then; and I wonder how he'll
get the money."
Carl was saying little or nothing, and Tom knew why. Here they had been
on the hike several days, and as yet there had arisen not a single
chance for him to get in touch with Dock Phillips.
Tom understood that another spell of dark foreboding was beginning to
enfold his chum. At the first opportunity he could find, Tom joined
Carl. The latter had thrown himself down on the bank some distance away
from the camp, where he could be in the shade, and yet look out on the
sunlit water, which just then had a most attractive aspect.
"You're worrying again because nothing has happened as we hoped would
be the case, eh, Carl?" was what the patrol leader said as he dropped
down close to the moody scout.
Carl sighed heavily.
"Perhaps it's foolish of me, Tom," he said, with a curious little break
in his voice, which he tried hard to master; "but once in so often it
seems as if something gripped me, and made me shiver. It's when I get
to thinking what little real progress I am making that this chilly
spell comes along."
"Yes, I can understand that," the other told him. "I did hope we might
run on Dock while we were up here, and either force or coax him to tell
what he did with the stolen paper. He's away from the influence of Mr.
Culpepper, you know, and if we had to come down to offering him a price
to get the paper he might accept."
"Oh! much as I hate to have to compromise such a thing," said Carl,
desperately; "I believe I'd do it. Anything to get that paper, for the
more I think of it the stronger I believe it means everything to my
mother."
"Well, we haven't quite got to the end of our tether yet," the patrol
leader assured him. "I can't explain it, but somehow there's a feeling
inside of me that tells me to keep on hoping. In some sort of fashion
luck is going to turn your way. Just keep up your grit, and hang on.
Take a lesson from the persistence of those dogs in following the
deer."
"Yes, I suppose I ought to. I've read how wolves will keep chasing
after a deer day and night, steady as dock-work, until in the end they
tire it out and get their dinner."
Just then they heard a shout, or what was closer to a shriek. It came
from beyond the camp, and was immediately followed by cries of alarm
from the other scouts.
"What's happened?" asked Tom, as with Carl he hurried to the spot to
see a group approaching bearing some burden in their midst.
"Walt Douglass fell out of a tree," replied Billy Button, looking very
pale; "and Mr. Witherspoon says he's afraid it means a fractured leg,
if nothing worse!"