“GOOD SHOT! GREAT LITTLE GUN!”
Strangely enough, Thad discovered at the same time that his nerves had
suddenly become as rigid as though he were simply about to fire at a
mark, to try the new rifle belonging to Step Hen.
This is one of the tests of a born hunter. He may feel nervous up to the
critical moment, when he stiffens, and seems to be made of steel.
Thad believed that he was in condition to do himself justice when the
proper time came to shoot. The distance was short, and although he would
have preferred having a different kind of light than merely seeing a
black object lined up against the sky, still he was familiar with guns,
and could, if necessary, aim merely through instinct.
The floundering grew in volume. Evidently the bull was having some
difficulty in pushing upward through the bushes that covered the other
side of the little ridge, the existence of which Sebattis must have known
before, or he would never have headed this way so confidently.
But the animal was certainly coming on, for the sounds grew louder all
the while. And whenever he seemed to stop, from any cause, there was
always that same tempting, wheedling sound to draw him on again.
It was a minute that the scout would never forget, since this was really
his first attempt to bring down game of any great size.
Again there came a silence. Was the bull hesitating again? Somehow
Sebattis had toned down his notes to a low murmur; but it was intended to
be very enticing to the stranger.
And all at once Thad felt the hand of the guide touch his arm. He guessed
that this must be meant as a signal to draw his attention to the fact
that there was at last something doing above; and at the same instant the
boy detected a moving object come into view over the top of the bald
ridge.
Higher it rose until he no longer had any doubt that he was looking at
the towering horns of a giant moose bull.
And in another moment the whole bulk of the beast was outlined against
the starry heavens.
The critical time was at hand.
Sebattis no longer played upon his birch bark horn. He had dropped it to
the ground, and doubtless gripped his old rifle so as to be ready to pour
in a second shot, should his boy-companion fail to send his lead where it
would strike a death blow. For Sebattis remembered that after all Thad
was a lad who had never before looked upon one of these greatest of all
American game animals on his native heath and that perhaps the sight
might rattle him.
“Shoot!”
It was only the faintest of whispers, but Thad caught it, for the mouth
of the Indian guide was just a short distance away from his ear.
He had already lowered his cheek to the stock of the little rifle, and
his finger was touching the trigger. Almost through instinct, such as
comes to one who has the blood of a hunter flowing through his veins, the
boy judged where he must aim, for such a thing as actually seeing the
shoulder of the gloomy figure was just then impossible.
The sight of that grand animal standing there with upraised head,
listening eagerly for the faintest indication of the presence of those
whose calls had tempted him to make this pilgrimage, was one Thad would
never be able to wholly get out of his mind.
Then he pressed the trigger of his rifle, and its quick response to the
invitation came as a pleasure to his ears. Hardly had he fired than Thad
was working the mechanism that was intended to throw out the empty shell,
and send another fresh cartridge into the firing chamber; and it spoke
well for his ability to do the right thing when he accomplished all this
without the slightest hitch; so that in two seconds he was ready to send
in a second shot if needed.
Sebattis had not fired.
This was really the first thing that flashed into Thad’s mind, and gave
him sudden hope. The second was that even though he himself had wanted to
shoot again, there was no chance, for the moose had disappeared.
He expected to hear that crashing of the bushes again, telling how the
wounded animal, for he knew he must have hit the moose, was rushing away
as fast as he had come. But he failed to catch it.
On the contrary, different sounds came to his ear, which he could not
understand for the moment. It even seemed to him that the brave moose
might have really met with an enemy, and was fighting gallantly against
heavy odds.
Well, that was just what must be happening; and the foe was one that
every moose must sooner or later find himself grappling with; for it was
the grim reaper, death.
Sebattis, with that wonderful instinct of his, had known instantly from
certain actions of the moose upon being struck, that the animal had
received his death wound. He understood that there was really no need of
his sending in a second shot; and besides, he preferred that the young
Nimrod should have the full credit of slaying the big bull.
Sebattis, for all he was an Indian, had all the generosity that marks the
true sportsman; and later on, in thinking it over, Thad realized how much
he was indebted to the guide for refraining from firing after he had done
so.
“You get um, Tad!” exclaimed the Indian, with a touch of pride in his
tone.
“Oh! do you really think I did, Sebattis?” cried the delighted young
hunter, now trembling like an aspen leaf, for the crisis was all past.
“Come with me; see!” was the reply.
Eagerly did Thad climb that little slope. It was now all as silent as
death up yonder. He hoped after all, Sebattis might not be mistaken, and
that the wily old moose, although severely hurt, had managed to slip
away. They would surely never be able to track him by the drops of blood
he shed.
But now they were on top of the rise. Thad had brought along with him the
little electric torch which he had purchased before starting on this trip
to Maine. All he had to do was to grip it in his left hand, press a
button, and instantly a brilliant ray of light shot out of the end. With
this he could see objects as much as sixty or eighty feet away, and
plainly at half that distance.
So now he flashed this light ahead. At first he failed to discover
anything on the ground, and his heart seemed to rise in his throat with
cruel disappointment at the thought that after all he had missed.
“Tad, see!”
It was the Indian who was plucking at his sleeve, and directing his
attention over to the left. And as the boy quickly turned the light in
that direction he was thrilled to discover the moose lying there on his
side, and not moving in the slightest degree.
“Oh! I did get him, didn’t I, Sebattis?” he cried, delighted beyond
measure at his good fortune; for it is not every hunter who can say he
brought down the first big game at which he has fired.
The guide was bending over the fallen monarch of the Maine woods. His
first inclination was to see where the fatal bullet had struck.
“Mighty good shot. Great little gun.”
He looked at Step Hen’s up-to-date thirty-thirty calibre rifle as though
after this he must be a fool to go packing his own heavy tool through
woods, and over carries, when one-half the weight would do better work.
And he even thrust his finger into the ragged hole just back of the fore
leg of the dead animal, as though wondering how so small a bullet could
ever make such a big opening. Sebattis had something to learn concerning
the results springing from the use of a soft-nosed bullet, that flattens
out when striking any object, even the side of an animal.
“We ought to let the boys know right away,” said Thad, thinking of how
his chums must be almost consumed with anxiety to be told the result of
that lone shot; which Step Hen must guess came from his new rifle, and
not the larger one carried by the Indian guide.
“Tad call um here. Me make little fire, so see how climb hill,” said
Sebattis.
Only too gladly did Thad send out a whoop that easily reached the
listening ears of those comrades in camp. An answering hail came back.
“Did you get him, Thad?”
“Come on over here, all of you,” was all Thad would say in return.
Immediately they heard a great threshing, as the entire crowd started on
a run in the direction of the call. Doubtless poor Bumpus would have
fared badly, and been left far in the lurch, only for the kindness of
Jim, who gave him a helping hand over all obstacles.
Meanwhile the Indian had hastened to scrape together a few handfuls of
dead stuff, which he seemed to know just where to look for; to this he
applied a match and as it sprang into a tiny flame, he proceeded to add
such fuel as he could most readily pick up.
In less than a minute he had a real fire going, that began to dispel the
shadows of night around the vicinity of the spot where the giant moose
lay. As it burned on the top of the bald ridge, the fire would serve as a
beacon to show the others just how to reach the place.
Now they were climbing the low elevation. Thad could hear some of them
puffing at a great rate. Of course Giraffe was the first to arrive, with
Eli close on his heels; then Allan, and the others trailing after in any
old style.
Each one of them pushed immediately to where the prize lay; and loud were
the exclamations of astonishment when they realized just what a monster
it was that Thad had brought down with that one fortunate shot.
Step Hen in particular was almost crazy with joy.
“Now make fun of my pea-shooter, will you, Giraffe?” he cried, dancing
around, and hugging his fine little rifle with all the delight a boy
might show in the possession of his first long trousers. “Just look at
what it did, would you? Why, anybody’s just silly to lug an old heavy
blunderbuss like yours around, when he c’n own such a bully little thing
at this. Oh! didn’t she just do everything to that old bull, though? If
he’d known about my gun he’d have lit out in the other direction,
licketty-split. After this, why should I be afraid to stand up in front
of any sort of big game that walks on four feet or hoofs? You hear me,
Giraffe?”
Thad did not disturb the wild dream of the tenderfoot chum; though he
wondered whether Step Hen could have hit Bumpus’ old red barn, if, lying
there in wait, he had suddenly seen the monster rise into view above the
crown of the low ridge, and felt Sebattis nudge him in the ribs, as a
warning that the time had come to shoot.
But it was a great moment for all the scouts, as they stood over the
prize that had fallen to the gun of their patrol leader, Thad Brewster.