HUNTERS, ALL
"LOOK, Dick, we are not the only hunters," whispered Roger, as he
tugged at the sleeve of his cousin's tunic, and pointed with his rifle.
There was a slight movement in the undergrowth just ahead of them.
Dick, looking in that direction, was surprised to see a crouching
animal slink away. He instantly recognized it as a gray timber wolf,
and knew the animal must have been hiding there in hopes of seizing
upon some sort of game.
As a single wolf, however daring, would never attempt to attack a
buffalo, Dick could not understand at first what the animal meant to
do. He judged, however, that, as this was the spring of the year,
possibly there were calves in the herd, which would be just the tender
sort of food that the sleek prowler would delight to secure.
The animal drew back his lips at the boys, disclosing the cruel white
fangs; but he knew better than to attack such enemies and slunk
swiftly away. After he slid into a thicker part of the brush the boys
lost sight of him, for the time at least.
Bent upon finding a place where they could get a fair shot at such
animals as seemed best suited to their needs, the boys crept along. The
patch of timber was not of any great size, and already they could see
the open prairie between the standing trees.
Again did the keen-eyed Roger make a sudden discovery that caused
him to grip once more the arm of his companion and point. This time,
however, he did not speak even in a whisper, for they were very close
to the edge of the motte, and for all they knew some buffalo might be
lying within twenty feet of them.
What Dick saw, as he turned his eyes in the direction indicated,
surprised him very much. Apparently the tempting bait had drawn another
savage hunter to the spot in hopes of securing a meal.
It was no Indian brave who sprawled upon the lowermost limb of that
tree, but the lithe figure of a gray animal which Dick instantly
recognized as a panther, and an unusually big one at that.
The beast was staring hard at them. It did not move, or offer to attack
them, but, just as the wolf had done, it bared its teeth.
The boys were not looking for trouble with a brute of this type just
then. Food alone held their thoughts and governed their movements. On
that account Dick did a very wise thing when, drawing his companion
aside, he made a little detour.
The boys crept as softly as though born spies. Hardly a leaf fluttered
as they moved along, and certainly no stick cracked under their weight,
for these lads had long ago learned all that woodcraft could teach them.
Both cast many a curious glance to the right and to the left, as though
wondering what next they would come upon in the way of hungry, envious
beasts.
After a little while Dick turned again toward the front, and began
to make his way to the edge of the timber. He had noticed that, at a
certain point, the dead grass extended some thirty feet away from the
trees, and offered splendid shelter to any one who knew how to utilize
it.
Taking an observation after he had crawled forward to the very edge
of the timber, Dick found that the nearest animals were some little
distance away. He could count a dozen of them in sight, and there were
two small calves frisking about their mothers.
Although the grass might be exceptionally fine close up to the trees,
the temptation to feed in closer was resisted by the buffaloes. They
seemed to know by some intuition that danger was apt to lurk where
timber grew, especially for the tender calves.
In order to make sure of their shots, it was desirable for the boys to
crawl out amidst that dead grass. Dick could see that it offered the
finest kind of shelter, and, once they reached its furthermost limit,
the chances of making sure shots would be just that much enhanced.
Flattening themselves out upon the ground they crept along on their
hands and knees. An inexperienced hunter could never have performed
the task without attracting the attention of the feeding buffaloes,
and causing a stampede; but the Armstrong boys had learned how to
accomplish the feat.
Now and then a cautious observation was taken, and these glances
painted the scene vividly on the minds of the creeping boys. They could
see the coveted yearling cows that it was their object to secure, the
other, older members of the herds, and, towering above all, the old
bull who ruled the herd.
This last was a terrible object, with the shaggiest mane the boys had
ever seen on a buffalo. He showed the scars of numerous fierce battles,
and one of his short black horns had been twisted out of shape in some
former combat, so that it gave him a peculiarly wicked appearance.
Of course, when picking out their game, neither of the hunters had
the slightest idea of aiming for the patriarch of the herd. He would
be much too tough a morsel for any one to chew, unless reduced to the
point of actual starvation, when he might be preferable to slicing up
one's moccasins for soup.
The old fellow seemed to understand his business as acknowledged
guardian of the herd. He moved hither and thither, and, every once in
so often, stopped to look around him, as though in search of signs of
trouble.
Then he would shake his great head, give a proud snort of conscious
power, strike at the ground several times with one of his forefeet, and
finally go on with his feeding.
By this time the hunters had arrived at the point where to proceed
further would be to accept unnecessary risk of detection. They knew
well that, once the alarm was given, the whole herd would quickly be in
motion.
While they might possibly succeed in a shot taken at a moving target,
the chances of a miss were much greater than they cared to take. So
Dick concluded the time had come for them to pick out their quarry,
take deliberate aim, and then fire as close together as possible.
A moving form attracted their attention close to the trees. It was the
hungry wolf, possibly seeking some new shelter. If the feeding animals
noticed the gray form at all they paid little heed to his presence,
having contempt for a single wolf. It would have been at the risk of
his life for the wolf to make a dash out toward the herd. Hungry though
he probably was, the slinking beast must have known this, for, after
giving a stretch to his head, as though longingly sniffing the air, he
crept once more back into the shelter of the timber.
Roger chuckled to himself, though deep down in his boyish heart he felt
sorry for that hunger-tempted wolf. He was also thinking that, if their
plans turned out well, they would leave a feast behind sufficient to
satisfy the appetites of both panther and wolf.
One last survey Dick took of the open stretch before them. He noticed
that the old bull was sniffing the air suspiciously just then. Whether
he had caught traces of their presence, or it was the fact of the
prowling wolf that began to bother the bull, Dick could not say.
In fact, things had by now reached a stage where he did not think it
mattered. Directly before them, and in plain sight, were two of the
yearlings, one of them a fine, sturdy-looking young bull.
Dick, as soon as he clapped his eye on this animal, selected him as his
intended victim. He knew that such a prize would be a choice morsel
for the camp; and, for that reason, he meant that his aim should be
particularly sure when the moment arrived to shoot.
"Leave the young bull to me, Roger," he whispered under his breath.
"Just as you say, Dick," came the equally cautious reply, as both
rifles were brought slowly up to the boys' shoulders.
The leader of the herd stamped his forefoot angrily on the ground and
made the turf fly. Plainly his suspicions had been aroused.
Dick knew they must delay no longer. The bull acted as though about to
give the alarm that would cause the whole herd to scamper wildly off.
Now the guns were leveled, and the cheek of each hunter lay alongside
the stock.
"Ready?" asked Dick, softly.
"Yes," came the immediate reply.
"Then let go!"
Crash!
Both guns let go almost as one, and the feeding herd was thrown into a
wild panic.