OUT FOR GAME
They had a peaceful night, with one exception. Along in the small
hours Bluff was heard to give a sudden wild whoop:
“Get out, you cowardly beast!” he cried at the top of his voice. Of
course there was considerable excitement.
Frank had been wise enough to bring a little vest-pocket type of
electric torch with him, knowing how valuable such a contrivance may
be at times. He instantly switched on the light; and, as he picked up
his gun with one hand, he managed to turn the white glow upon the bunk
occupied by Bluff.
The latter had apparently subsided, for no more shouts rang out. Frank
discovered him lying there rubbing his eyes. He looked as though
hardly knowing whether to burst out laughing or appear ashamed of
having startled the others so.
“What’s all this row mean, Bluff?” demanded Frank sternly.
“Shucks! I guess I must have been dreaming, that’s all,” he was told.
“What nipped you? Because you acted as if it hurt,” Jerry asked.
“Why, you see,” explained Bluff, “I had come across that big Bill
Nackerson, while roamin’ through the woods, and he managed to sneak my
gun away when I wasn’t looking. Then what did he do but sic that mangy
cur of his on me. I was kickin’ like everything at him. See how I sent
my blanket out on the floor. All I wanted was one sound smack at his
ugly jaws. I’m sorry I woke up so soon, because next time I’d have
fetched him.”
“Well, go to sleep again, and let’s hope you dream of other things
besides scrapping,” advised Jerry, as he proceeded to once more
deposit his gun in a corner, and crawl under his blanket.
Bluff must have taken the advice to heart; at any rate his voice was
not heard again until Frank pounded on the frying-pan to let the
sleepers know it was time to creep out. Then each one in turn wanted
to learn whether breakfast was ready.
As they ate they began to lay out plans for the day.
“Of course Bluff and Frank must try to get us some venison,” Will
said; “and that’ll leave Jerry to assist me in camp. Besides, I want
to find places to fix up my flashlight for the next night. If I can
get a picture of some animal, taken by himself, it’ll please me a
heap. What you know about the habits of these little creatures will
help me out lots, Jerry.”
“I may be able to give a little advice, too, Will,” the latter
remarked, as he helped himself to another flapjack; “because, you
know, I went out with that gentleman who was stopping at our house
late this fall. He had the flashlight habit about as bad as any one
I’ve ever met.”
“Oh! you did mention it to me once, I remember,” said the other,
evidently much pleased. “Then you may have picked up a few little
wrinkles that will help me out in my game.”
“Leave that to me,” replied Jerry, swelling with importance. “I can
put you wise to heaps of things. You see, I like to ask questions, and
Mr. Mallon always gave me the straight answer.”
Breakfast was now about over, and the proposed hunt came next in
order.
Frank never went off without making sure of a number of small but very
important things. First of all he carried a compass. Next he made
certain that he had an abundance of matches. After that ammunition was
taken care of, and last of all enough food for a “snack.”
Frank was also a great hand for arranging a code of signals with his
chums. This was an easy thing to do, because they had gone together so
long now that they had a regular system that could be used as a means
of conferring with one another, even when a considerable distance
apart.
“Will’s mentioning that he wished we’d thought to fetch some syrup or
honey along to go with the flapjacks,” Frank was saying, just before
they broke away from camp, “makes me think that there are plenty of
wild bees up here in Maine. Men hunt for their tree hives every
season, and often find stacks of good honey, too.”
“Then, for goodness’ sake, fellows,” exclaimed Will, “please keep an
eye out for any sign of a hive. Nothing would please me better than to
have a pail of honey on hand. I’d just like to fill myself up with it,
for once.”
“It’s a poor time of year to find a bee tree,” said Frank. “They
usually look for a hive in summer, when the bees are flying and can be
traced. Often the storehouse is away up at the top of a high tree. The
weather is so cold now there wouldn’t be any young bees airing
themselves in the sun.”
“Well, you never know,” ventured Jerry; “and, as you saunter along,
just watch out for the signs. I understand bears often raid a hive.
You might find empty combs lying on the ground under some tree.”
“Make up your mind we’ll not forget to keep an eye out,” Frank assured
the camp guardians. “That reminds me, I promised to tell you a lot of
interesting things about this country up here. I’ll do it to-night, if
you mention it to me after supper.”
“I’ll remind you, sure thing,” returned Bluff eagerly, “because I
understand that a whole army of people make some sort of a living out
of the Maine woods, and I’ve always wanted to know how they could do
it. Take my gun away, and I’d like as not starve to death here inside
of a week.”
“All because you haven’t been brought up in Maine,” Frank told him,
“and are as good as blind to the wonderful opportunities all around
you. But, if you’re ready, Bluff, let’s be starting off.”
“Good luck to you!” cried Will, who was already engaged with his
camera.
Bluff was soon tagging along at the heels of Frank, though
occasionally he took a notion to push to the front. This was when he
fancied that a particular patch of undergrowth looked promising.
Being in a humor to gather in a few of the numerous plump partridges
that they knew were to be found in the timber, Bluff had his pump-gun
loaded with shells containing moderate loads of powder and small shot.
He thought that, with Frank at his side carrying a repeating rifle,
there was no need of both being on the lookout for big game.
They walked on, apparently in an aimless fashion, but Frank knew just
where he was going. One of his objects had been to avoid heading in
the quarter where he had reason to believe that deserted trapper’s
cabin was located, near the edge of the muskrat marsh. If, as they
feared, it was now occupied by Bill Nackerson and his crew, Frank
wanted to keep as far away from the place as he could.
Suddenly there came a humming sound, that caused Bluff to throw up his
gun. With a quick discharge a flutter of feathers announced that he
had made a hit.
“That’s a good start, Bluff,” Frank told him; “you got your bird, all
right; but, hold on—don’t think of rushing over there. There were two
others, and perhaps you don’t know a queer way partridges have of
lighting on the lower limbs of trees after being flushed.”
“Say, that’s a fact, you did tell me that once, but I’d forgotten it,”
Bluff candidly admitted. “And they use a dog to scare the birds up.
That was what Nackerson had trained his cur to do, wasn’t it?”
“They bark and run about under the tree after the birds have taken to
the limbs,” Frank continued; “and so the hunter can walk up close to
pick his shot. It’s easy work, and when the partridges are thick up
here no one need go hungry.”
“Well, all I’ve ever shot went off like a hurricane; and often I’ve
had to let fly with my gun part way up to my shoulder. Do you see
either of the others, Frank?”
“Yes, and, as luck will have it, they’ve lighted in such a way that
they’re both in range. I believe you could drop two birds with one
shot, Bluff.”
“I see ’em now,” muttered Bluff. “Watch my smoke.”
When he fired again both birds fell. Bluff looked as though
half-ashamed of such easy work.
“Three already, eh? Nearly a chicken apiece, all around. Well, I might
limit myself to just one more, and then call my part of the business
off for to-day.”
He loaded himself down with the partridges, though Frank offered to
carry one or more for him.
“You’ll need both hands for quick work, if we should happen to start a
deer a little later on,” Bluff replied, giving Frank a cheery smile.
“Listen, there goes a gun!” said Frank, soon afterward.
“There’s another—yes, and a whole raft of them!” cried Bluff. “Of
course it’s that crowd of Nackerson’s. I’m glad they’re pretty far
away from here.”
“Yes, and we’ll make a detour, so as not to get any closer to them,”
Frank said, as he changed their course.
“I hope this new ground will give us better luck,” Bluff went on.
They continued to push on until half a mile had been traversed.
It happened that Bluff was a little in advance of his chum, when,
without the least warning, there was a sudden crash in the thicket.
Then he saw something dun-colored spring away.
“Oh! Frank! look, there he goes skipping out; and it’s a three-pronged
buck, at that!” he shouted.
Then, realizing that he might be interfering with the other’s aim,
being in line with the fleeing deer, Bluff dropped flat to the ground.