THE RIVAL HUNTERS.
The top of the ridge was thickly covered with bushes, and it was
something Oscar imagined he saw behind those bushes that caused his eyes
to open, and set his hands to trembling violently.
Arising above the top of the thicket was an object that looked for all
the world like a pair of wide-spreading antlers; and on the ground could
be dimly seen another object, that greatly resembled a doe lying down.
A person whose eyes were less keen than Oscar’s might have looked toward
the top of the ridge a score of times without seeing anything but bushes
there; but the young hunter was positive that the deer he had been
following were stationed within easy range of him, closely watching all
his movements.
Why did he not bolt at once and shoot at them? For the reason that he
knew that so long as he kept moving, and the animals fancied themselves
unobserved, they would remain motionless in their place of concealment;
but the instant he came to a stand-still, they would take the alarm and
show him their heels. Besides, he wanted to obtain a better view of
them, if he could, to gain a favorable position for a shot, and to make
sure that they were really live deer, and not creatures of his
imagination.
With these thoughts in his mind, Oscar walked slowly along the trail,
keeping his eyes fixed upon the shrubbery.
In a few seconds another cluster of bushes shut the doe out of his
sight. This seemed to cause her some uneasiness, for she promptly arose
to her feet and moved nearer to the buck, so that she could look through
the tops of the bushes at the hunter. It was plain that she thought it
best to keep her eyes on him.
The buck, at the same time, shifted his own position very slightly, and
thus brought himself in front of an opening in the thicket, through
which Oscar saw that he could obtain a fatal, or at least a disabling
shot.
These movements on the part of the game removed all doubts from the mind
of the young hunter.
He was looking at live deer, and nothing else.
Still keeping his gaze fixed upon the animals, he moved along the trail
about ten yards further; and, when he had taken an extra cartridge from
his belt, he faced about and walked back, at the same time drawing the
rifle to his face.
He kept the weapon directed toward the top of the ridge; and, when the
muzzle of it came within range of that clear space in the bushes, he
pressed the trigger.
An instant afterward there was a great commotion behind the thicket. A
cloud of snow and deep leaves flew into the air, raised by the doe as
she bounded high in her tracks and sought safety in flight, and by the
hind feet of the buck, which, giving one convulsive spring, came
crashing through the tops of the bushes, and rolled down the bluff,
landing in a heap almost at the feet of the hunter, who jumped quickly
to one side to avoid the blows from the sharp little hoofs that were
flourished so spitefully in the air.
But his struggles did not long continue. He was hard hit; and, by the
time Oscar had thrown the empty shell out of his rifle and put in the
cartridge he held in his hand, the buck was stone dead.
The report of his gun awoke a thousand echoes, which reverberated among
the rocks and gorges until it seemed as if a dozen answering shots were
coming from as many different points of the compass, and fell upon the
ears of a man who, carrying his rifle at a trail, moving with long,
swinging strides, and keeping his eyes fastened upon the tracks in the
snow, was making his way through a dense thicket a quarter of a mile
distant.
He stopped suddenly when he heard it; and, having made sure of the
direction from which the report came, he uttered an exclamation
indicative of astonishment and anger; and, turning short off from the
trail, ran at the top of his speed toward the valley.
Arriving at the edge of the timber, he peeped cautiously through the
bushes, and saw Oscar standing below him, leaning on his rifle and
looking at the prize he had secured.
The hunter either recognized in him somebody against whom he held a
grudge, or else he was enraged over the loss of the game he had so long
and perseveringly followed; for he raised his rifle to his face and
pointed it at the boy as if he had half a mind to drop him as Oscar had
dropped the mule-deer.
It was probable, however, that he had no such intention, for he did not
cock his gun. He was only acting out in pantomime what he would have
been glad to do in reality, if he had not been afraid of the
consequences.
Just then Oscar raised his head and set up a shout that once more put
the echoes at work among the hills. The sound seemed to startle the
concealed hunter, for he straightened up quickly and cast suspicious
glances behind and on both sides of him, at the same time straining his
ears to catch the reply, if any were given.
After looking and listening for two or three moments he again brought
his rifle to a trail, glided away as noiselessly as a spirit, making use
of every tree and rock to conceal his progress, and presently he was
lost to sight in the depths of the woods.
“Who—whoop!” yelled Oscar again, when he thought he had waited long
enough for a reply. “Where is Thompson, I wonder? If he can’t hear the
call he ought certainly to have heard the report of the gun, and I don’t
see why he doesn’t answer it. That was the agreement between us. If we
were hunting out of sight of each other he was to reply to my shot, and
come to me at once. I’ll try him again.”
Oscar looked around for some mark upon which to exercise his skill, and
discovering a white spot on a tree fifty yards away, took a quick aim at
it, and had the satisfaction of seeing the centre of the spot disappear.
The echoes answered as before, but the boy heard nothing that sounded
like the sharp, whip-like report of Big Thompson’s muzzleloader.
He shouted until he was hoarse, but no reply came back to him save the
sound of his own voice thrown back from the cliffs.
“I think I’d better not waste any more time,” said Oscar, after he had
waited nearly half an hour for the guide to make his appearance. “If he
comes back this way he will, of course, strike my trail, and he is such
a runner that it will not take him long to come up with me. Now, the
next thing is to find a drag.”
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Oscar drew his hatchet from his
belt; and, after a short search among the saplings in front of him,
selected one that he thought would answer his purpose.
A few blows with the hatchet brought it to the ground; and, when some of
the useless branches had been cut off, the buck was placed upon it—not
without a good deal of hard work, however, during which Oscar’s strength
was all brought into requisition—and the hunter set out for camp well
satisfied with his success.
It was a task of no little difficulty to haul so heavy a burden through
the snow, and Oscar was often obliged to stop and rest.
During every one of these halts he renewed his efforts to attract the
attention of his guide by shouting and firing his gun, but still no
answer was returned.
Just as it was growing dark he reached the cabin; and, with a sigh of
relief, put his rifle in its place, and sat down on one of the stools to
take another good look at his prize.
After resting a few moments, he took a tape-line from one of the pockets
of his saddle-bags and proceeded to make some measurements.
Here is the entry he made in his diary—or, rather, a portion of it:
I have to-day secured my first specimen of the—I don’t know whether
to call it _Cervus columbianus_ or _Cariacus columbianus_, or
_Cariacus macrotis_; for no two authorities I have read agree on
that point. If he is a deer at all, he belongs to the family
_Cervidæ_, and therefore ought to be called _Cervus_ something. Who
knows but I may some day be an authority on these little matters
myself? He is a mule-deer; I know that much, and his dimensions are
as follows: spread of antlers, fifty inches; fourteen well-developed
prongs. Height, five feet four inches from the ground to tip of
antlers; at the haunches, three feet eight inches. Length of ears, a
fraction over eight inches. Body, round and plump; legs very
slender; feet so small that they seem greatly disproportioned to the
size of the animal. Color of coat a dark gray, tipped with black,
changing to yellow and white on the breast and flanks, and to a
tawny on the legs. Tail, thin and switchy; white at the top, and
terminating in a black brush three inches in length. Weight, about
two hundred and fifty pounds.
After Oscar had made this entry, and while he was sitting with his elbow
on his knee and his chin resting on his hand, looking down at the deer
to see if there were any points about him that he had not noted, he
heard footsteps breaking through the crust outside the cabin; and the
next moment the door opened, admitting Big Thompson, who carried
something slung over his shoulder. He stopped on the threshold and
uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
“What have you got there?” inquired Oscar.
The guide handed over his bunch of game, consisting of an otter and
several mink, for his employer’s inspection, and turned his attention to
the deer, which he examined with considerable interest.
“Ye’ll never get a better one, if ye stay here till yer har’s as white
as the driven snow,” said he. “’Taint often ye see a black-tail larger’n
this yere. An’ I think I heard ye say that ye didn’t know nothin’ ’bout
huntin’ big game.”
“And I told you the truth,” replied Oscar. “But I have paid strict
attention to everything you said in regard to the habits of the animals
found in these hills, and when I go hunting I make use of the
information you have given me. I know enough to beat you, don’t I?”
“Looks like it from here,” answered the guide.
“And you had the start of me, too,” continued Oscar. “I followed your
trail until I was tired out, and then, happening to recall what you said
regarding the habit a mule-deer has of doubling on his trail, I looked
toward the top of a bluff a little distance off and there he was. That’s
the way I got him. What was the reason you didn’t answer my signals?”
“Look a-here, perfessor,” said the guide, drawing the other stool up on
the opposite side of the fire and seating himself, “what be ye tryin’ to
get through yerself?”
“Nothing at all. I am simply trying to make you understand, that, while
you were following the deer, I got the start of you.”
“Whar did ye shoot him?” asked Big Thompson.
“About four miles up the valley. And you were there, too, for I saw your
trail.”
“Not much, ye didn’t!” exclaimed the guide, who was very much surprised.
“Kase why—I was five miles _down_ the valley.”
“You were?” said Oscar, now beginning to be surprised himself. “Then
there’s another hunter about here.”
“Mebbe it was a bar track ye seed?” suggested the guide.
“Don’t you suppose I can tell the print of a moccasin from a bear
track?” inquired Oscar. “Of course, you don’t know who he is.”
“In course not; but I’ll find out to-morrer, while yer fixin’ up that
black-tail. I allers like to know who my neighbors be. I know this much,
howsomever. If this yere valley is git tin’ settled up, it aint no place
fur me an’ you. Somebody’ll have to be movin’; but it won’t be me an’
the perfessor,” he added to himself.
Oscar laughed outright. The idea that a hunting ground, covering over
three hundred square miles, was too densely populated when there were
only three hunters in it, amused him.
He did not object to the presence of a third party. On the contrary, if
they chanced to meet him, and he proved to be the right sort of man,
Oscar would have been in favor of inviting him to take up his abode in
the cabin. He was a professional hunter, or he would not be in the hills
at that season of the year, and he would have stories to tell that would
help while away the long winter evenings.
Big Thompson had other ideas. He had suspicions also; and, if he had
communicated them to Oscar, it is probable that the boy would have
thought as he did—that somebody would have to be moving.