A BRILLIANT SHOT
The new arrival was Hero the hound. He came on the scene with a rush
and proceeded straight to business.
He did not need to pause to take in the situation, but with a faint
whine and short yelp he bounded for the savage buck, which did not see
him until they collided. But the old fellow was game. Though he had
fled in a wild panic when the baying of the dog rang through the
woods, yet now that he was at bay he fought like a Trojan.
Realizing that it was a fight for life, he whirled about, lowered
those splendid antlers and went for the canine like a steam engine.
The dog had no wish to be bored through by such formidable weapons,
and, with a bark of fear, he leaped back, alert and watchful for a
chance to seize his victim by the throat.
Now was the time for the young hunters to put in the finishing
touches, for the buck was so occupied with his new assailant that he
could give them no attention.
Bob Budd dared not crawl from under the tree and run for his gun lying
some yards away, which would have to be re-loaded before it could be
of use to him.
But the young man was convinced that the golden opportunity for the
others had arrived, and he did not hesitate to proclaim it in tones
that could have been heard a half-mile off.
Tom Wagstaff was persuaded that he was safe so long as he remained
astride of the limb where he had perched himself with such haste when
the buck gave him a lively chase, and if he knew his own heart (as he
was confident he did) he did not mean to descend from his elevation
and run the risk of being elevated or bored by the antlers of the
vicious buck.
“By the time I can get down there and get hold of my gun he will have
the dog knocked out and then he’ll start for _me_, and where will
Ibe? No; I had enough hard work to climb up here and _I’ll
stay_.”
And so, unmindful of the reproaches and appeals of the howling Bob,
Tom continued to play the part of interested spectator.
The fight between the buck and the hound promised to be a prolonged
one, though it looked as if the fine beast would have to succumb in
the end.
Had he been able to get the dog in a corner where he could not dodge,
it is probable he might have finished him, for one terrific ramming of
those antlers would have been enough, but the agility of Hero saved
him each time. When the horny weapons were lowered and the buck made a
rush which seemed sure to impale the canine, he sprang nimbly aside
like a skillful sparrer, still on the alert for an opening.
The deer displayed an intelligence that hardly would have been
expected at such a time. He avoided rearing on his hind legs, and
trying to hew his assailant with his fore-paws, as he had sought to do
in the case of the youngsters, for such an effort on his part would
have given Hero the fatal opening he wanted. One lightning-like bound,
and his sharp teeth would have closed in the throat of the buck, and
there they would have stuck until he gasped his last breath.
Not only that, but the hound would have kept his body out of reach of
the hoofs, while, as a matter of course, the antlers would have been
powerless against such a determined assailant.
It was this fact which must have been understood by the buck, that
caused him to keep his head lowered and toward the hound, who, despite
his rapid darting hither and thither, was unable for a time to catch
him off his guard.
It was a forcible commentary on the incompetence and cowardice of the
hunters, that there were three of them, all armed and one with both
charges in his gun, and yet they dared not interfere while the
feinting and striking was going on between the dog and buck.
It must be borne in mind that what I am relating took place in an
exceedingly brief space of time.
But the contest, if such it may be called, between the two animals
might have continued indefinitely, so far as Bob Budd and Tom Wagstaff
were concerned.
The latter, as I have explained, was safely perched among the branches
of a tree, while his unloaded gun lay on the ground some distance
away, and it was certain to lie there until the struggle between Hero
and the larger animal should be settled.
Bob was equally positive that it was his duty to keep himself squeezed
beneath the trunk of the oak, though his dread of the animal caused
him to edge as many inches as he dared toward the opposite side.
As for Jim McGovern, he was in a quandary. He was as strongly resolved
as the other two to avoid any charge from the buck, reasoning that if
neither of his brother Rangers was able to stay him with their loaded
guns, it was improbable that he could do so with his single weapon.
But somehow or other he felt it incumbent upon him to make use of his
gun, which he still held in hand with its two hammers raised and the
triggers ready to be pressed.
He inclined to favor the scheme of climbing a tree, where he could
open a bombardment at his leisure and smile at the anger of the buck
that was so much interested in the hound.
But the difficulty with this plan was that of taking the weapon into
the branches with him. To make his way up the trunk, he needed the use
of all his limbs, arms as well as legs, and it was therefore out of
his power to carry a heavy gun with him.
You will understand that the same obstacle would be encountered in
grasping a limb and lifting himself upward, for a lad who drinks
whiskey and smokes cigarettes can never be enough of an athlete to
draw himself upward with a single arm.
At such times as I am describing the most sluggish brain thinks fast,
and the thoughts I have named went through the head of Jim McGovern in
a twentieth of the time taken to narrate them.
He was inclined to the theory that he ought to do _something_,
though impatient with the continued yelling of Bob.
“Now’s your chance, Jim! What are you waiting for? Shoot quick, for
he’ll soon kill the dog and then he’ll finish _me_!”
“If you’ll shut up for a minute,” shouted Jim, in reply, “I’ll shoot,
but you’re making such an infernal rumpus that I can’t take aim.”
At this hint Bob ceased his appeals and something like silence settled
over the exciting scene.
The fiery Hero saw that he would soon have the buck at his mercy, for
the animal was tiring himself out by his savage charges. Sometimes he
would lower his antlers and dash forward for twenty paces at the dog,
which deftly avoided him and saved his strength. Then the buck would
slowly fall back, all the time maintaining his defiant front and
charging again, often before he had fully recovered from his preceding
effort.
It was an interesting fact that, during the few minutes occupied by
this singular contest, each of the combatants met with a hair-breadth
escape, so to speak, from the other.
Once when the buck made his rush, Hero, in leaping backward, collided
with an obstruction on the ground which caused him to roll over and
over, and the formidable antlers touched him; but with inimitable
dexterity he regained his feet and escaped the sword-like thrust that
grazed his skin.
No escape could have been narrower, but that which the buck met within
the same minute was fully as narrow.
It may have been that Hero was a victim to some extent of the
impatience which the youths around him felt, for seeing an opportunity
he bounded like a cannon-ball from the earth at the throat of the
buck.
The latter was quick to read the meaning of the crouching figure which
left the ground before he could drop his antlers to receive him, else
it would have gone ill for the assailant, but the buck flung his head
backward just far enough to save his throat from those merciless
fangs.
When it is stated that the flesh of the deer just back of his jaws was
nipped by the same teeth which could not get a hold deep enough to be
retained, it will be admitted that the fellow could not have had a
closer call.
But these furious efforts were far more telling upon the larger animal
than upon the dog, which could not have failed to understand that he
had only to wait a brief while to have the buck at his mercy, and
those teeth, once buried in the throat of the game, would stay there,
as I have said, until the last gasp of life departed.
By and by Hero saw a better opening than before and instantly gathered
his muscles for a spring.
A few seconds previous to this crisis Jim McGovern had mastered the
idea that there was but one thing to do, and that was to take careful
aim at the buck and kill him; no quicker means of ending the danger
could be devised than that.
He had learned that a good place into which to send the charge, no
matter what the species of the animal may he, is just behind the
foreleg, where a well-aimed bullet or charge of shot fired at close
quarters, is sure to reach the seat of life.
While running his eye along the barrel the buck turned broadside
toward Jim, and thrusting one foot forward gave the very opportunity
he wanted.
Fearful that he would shift his position the next instant, Jim
discharged both barrels in quick succession.
The report was yet ringing through the woods when a rasping howl rose
on the air that made the blood of every one tingle.
“I didn’t know that deer let out such cries as that when they were
shot,” muttered Jim, lowering his gun and walking forward, “but I
s’pose I sent both charges through his heart—_great
Jewhilakens_!”
He had suddenly awakened to the fact that instead of shooting the buck
he had sent both charges into the body of the hound, just as he was in
the act of leaping at the throat of his victim.
The inevitable consequence of this blunder was that Hero lay stretched
on the ground as dead as Julius Cæsar.