THE UNWELCOME GUEST.
Max saw what had happened in that one glance he took.
Steve had met his deer at last; and sure enough it was a sturdy buck that
had five prongs to his antlers, showing his years.
Whatever upset Steve could only be guessed; but although he had certainly
sent in two shots he had failed to bag the game.
Perhaps he wounded the deer with the first shot and the animal had
fallen. Flushed with triumph, Steve had given a yell and started to
hasten toward his quarry with the intention of bleeding it, as he
understood should be done.
Then, when the buck scrambled to his feet, and charged straight at the
young hunter, Steve had been so rattled that he missed entirely with his
second shot.
After that it was run or take to a tree for Steve.
And sheltered behind an oak, around which he had been chased again and
again by the angry buck, Steve had seen his chum appear in sight.
It was then he shouted his warning.
Max had no intention of picking out a tree for himself, as Steve
suggested; at least not so early in the game. Time enough for that when
he found he had made as bad a bungle of the affair as his chum seemed to
have done.
Here was the fine chance to try his new rifle that he had been hoping
would come along.
"Look out!"
Max hardly heard this last warning, cry from the boy who looked out
behind the friendly oak. He had dropped on his right knee and raised his
gun.
The buck was coming on pretty fast, considering the fact that he seemed
to limp and be losing blood from the wound Steve had given him.
Max knew he had a difficult task to place his bullet where it was
calculated to do the most good. There was little of the deer's breast
exposed as with lowered head he charged toward this new enemy. But Max
had all the necessary requisites that go to make up the good hunter--a
quick eye, a sure hand, and excellent judgment in a pinch.
He took a quick aim, and meant to fire while the buck was still a little
way off. This was to give him a chance to pump a new cartridge into the
firing chamber of his gun in case the first shot failed to do the work.
After that--well, of course, there still remained the tree Steve
recommended, and Steve ought to know a good thing when he saw it, since
he had been saved from those really dangerous-looking antlers by a
sheltering tree.
But, then, Max did not mean to register a miss.
He pressed the trigger at just the right time as the buck was rising in
the air. And when he saw the deer crash to the ground, although he felt a
thrill of satisfaction, cautious Max was not like Steve, rushing headlong
forward to bleed his game.
On the contrary, his first act was to go through the rapid action that
placed his rifle in serviceable condition again.
"Take care, Max," yelled Steve, seeing the buck struggling, "that's how
he fooled me, the sharp dodger! He's the tricky one, all right, you bet!
Watch him climb up again, now! Take that big tree right alongside you,
Max!"
But instead of doing this Max advanced toward the spot where the buck had
fallen. He was ready to send in another shot should it be needed. But
there was no necessity.
The buck gave one last violent kick and then lay still.
"All over, Steve; you can come along," said Max, beckoning toward the
other.
Steve stopped to pick up his gun, examined it with apparent solicitude,
as if to make sure it had not been injured, and then carefully replaced
the discharged shells with fresh ones.
"You never can tell what them there old five-pronged bucks _will_ do," he
said, as he came up to where Max stood, surveying their prize; "and it's
best to be on the safe side; so that's why I waited to load my gun."
"And I reckon, Steve," said Max, with a smile, "that if you'd waited
before to see if your buck got up again, you'd have downed him for keeps
with that second barrel, and then you wouldn't have had to hunt up the
safe side of a tree."
"Guess that's all to the good, Max," replied the other, humbly.
"Pretty fine-looking buck, ain't he, Steve?"
"Well, I should say yes," was the answer. "And just to think he's the
very five-pronged old boy I've been talking about this long while."
"My, but he acted as though he was mad at you!" Max went on, anxious to
hear some of the particulars of what had happened.
"That's straight goods, Max, and he had reason to be mad at me. I plunked
him with that first shot and he went down. I thought I had him and
started to run in, when, shucks, he got up again!"
"Then you fired again, but so rapidly that you missed; was that it,
Steve?"
"Oh, I admit I was some rattled," replied the other.
"And then after you missed him, Steve?"
"Huh, after that things commenced to happen. They came so fast they kind
of got me twisted," and Steve made a comical face with this statement
that almost set the other off into a roar of laughter.
But he knew that if he gave way it might offend Steve and cause him to
bottle up his explanation; so Max held in.
"And then?" he went on.
"Oh," said Steve, "I saw a tree and headed for it kerslam. But the old
buck he seemed to be on the high-speed gear himself. First thing I knew
he bumped me for fair, and then came back to stick me with his horns. But
I didn't just care for knowing him any closer, and I rolled out of the
way."
"You managed to get your tree after that, didn't you, Steve?"
"Seems like I did, Max, though honest to goodness, now, if you asked me
how I did it I couldn't tell you. Reckon I must have just _flown_."
"Yes," laughed Max, "they always say fear has wings."
"Oh, now, looky here, you're mistaken, Max, sure you are. I wasn't afraid
right then, only somewhat rattled."
"From the excitement of the thing," remarked Max. "Of course, and anybody
would have been about the same. But lend a hand here and let's turn our
deer over, Steve. I want to see where you hit him."
This they speedily accomplished; and then Steve, who had been pondering
over something, broke loose again.
"Max," he said, with a little quiver to his voice, "I noticed just now
that you said _our_ deer. Do you mean to let me claim a share in this
thing, then?"
"Why, of course," replied the other, as if in surprise; "we both shot
him. See, here's where a buckshot from your gun struck him in the side.
They must have scattered more than you thought they'd do at such a short
distance."
"Yes," said Steve; "looks like it. But, Max, it was you who killed him."
"Oh, I ended him, that's right," said Max, who was nothing if not
generous, "but only for you holding him here after wounding him, where
would I have come in? Why, I'd never have had the first sight of the
buck."
"Yes, that's so," said Steve, smiling grimly, "I _held_ him all right,
didn't I? But when he was chasing me around that old tree so lively, Max,
somehow I didn't happen to look at it that way. Fact is, I thought the
plagued buck was holding me."
"All the same," declared Max in a tone that settled it, "we got him, and
both of us gave him a chance to bleed. You weakened him at first, you
know."
"Oh, did I?" remarked Steve, feeling of his ribs, as if to make sure none
of them were broken. "Well, you see, I can't help but wonder what would
have happened to me if the old beast hadn't been weakened, just like you
say."
That was too much for Max. And, besides, having coaxed the whole story
from his chum now, he thought it would not matter very much if he did
indulge in a good laugh.
To his surprise Steve joined in. Evidently the realization that he had
actually helped kill a genuine five-pronged buck, fulfilling his wildest
dream, caused Steve to be less "touchy" than usual.
"But we must manage to get him home some way, Max," he remarked after a
while, when they had grown weary of admiring their prize.
"Think we could tote several hundred pounds four miles?" demanded Max.
"If it was a little doe, now, I might be willing to tie the legs along a
pole and try it; but I balk at this big chap."
"Then what shall we do?" asked Steve.
"I'm going to cut it up the best way I know how," his chum replied. "All
we want to take along is one hind quarter. Plenty on that for two meals.
And like as not we'll find the old chap pretty tough."
Accordingly the boys set to work. Steve knew next to nothing about such
things, but was willing to do whatever his comrade asked of him. And
while Max professed to be a clumsy butcher, he certainly did his work in
a way to draw out words of praise from the delighted chum.
"There, that job is done," said Max, when the sun was nearly halfway down
the western sky, "and I'm glad of it, too."
"We can take turns carrying the hind quarter," remarked Steve, hefting
it; "after all, it doesn't seem so very heavy."
"I'm going to wrap it in the skin, which I removed the first thing," Max
continued.
"But it's too bad to leave all the rest of our fine buck," sighed Steve.
"Oh, don't think I mean to let the foxes and other animals make way with
the rest of the venison! I've got this rope here around my waist; you
know it comes in handy sometimes."
Steve laughed.
"For pulling silly fellows out of quicksand and bog holes," he remarked.
"Oh, yes, don't think I've forgotten what happened in that Great Dismal
Swamp. But do you mean to yank the carcass up in a tree, Max? Is that the
way you expect to use the rope?"
Max nodded in reply.
They soon accomplished this.
Max seemed to know just how to go about it, and presently the balance of
the deer swung there in space, six feet or more from the ground, and as
many below the strong limb over which the rope had been thrown.
"Think it'll be safe, do you?" asked Steve, puffing from the exertion of
pulling such a weight upward.
"From every kind of animal but a bobcat. If one of that tribe happens
along and is hungry, of course he could drop down on the upper part and
munch away," was the reply Max made.
"Which happens to be the fore quarters of the buck, the part we don't
care about so much," said Steve.
"Oh, I had that in mind when I fixed the rope, Steve."
"I might have guessed it, because you're always thinking ahead, Max. And
shall we start for home now?"
"Shortly. Let's get rested a bit more. And I want to fix directions
straight in my mind so we'll hit the cabin first shot," Max answered.
"Four miles, you said, didn't you?" Steve asked, with a big sigh; for now
that the excitement was over he began to feel tired again.
"That's what Uncle Jim said," remarked Max.
After a while they started on their way and trudged along nearly two
miles in silence, Steve insisting on sharing the load, which Max had made
possible by fastening the venison to a pole, so that each could grasp it.
"Max," said Steve about this time.
"Yes, what is it?" replied the other, as they changed places.
"Catamounts and lynx and bobcats like fresh meat, of course; but you
don't think now, do you, Max, they'd hurt those beautiful five-pronged
horns?"
"Of course not," replied the other, walking on again.
"Because we ought to get those to mount and keep in one of our rooms at
home, Max."
"Your room, Steve; you're a thousand times welcome to my share in them."
"Oh, thank you, Max, that's awful kind."
After a wearisome march they approached the cabin. It was late in the
afternoon, but no friendly smoke arose from the chimney.
The returned hunters saw this fact with astonishment.
"What does it mean!" Steve remarked, as they came to a halt and set their
burden down upon the ground.
"Hi, fellows!" called a voice.
Some one stepped out of the bushes across the little clearing and waved
his hand. It was Owen, and he seemed to be beckoning in the most
mysterious manner possible.
Max and Steve exchanged puzzled looks.
"What in the dickens is up now!" exclaimed the latter.
"Owen wants us to cross over to where he is," Max went on to say; "and I
reckon the quickest way to find out is to join him."
"Ginger, I can see Toby there, too; yes, and now I get a glimpse of
Trapper Jim and Bandy-legs! They're all sitting in a row on that log,
Max, and lookin' solemn-like at the cabin. What in the wide world is up?
She ain't a-fire that I can notice."
"Come along; let's find out," said Max, stooping to his end of the pole
upon which the hind quarter of venison was slung.
"I'll just bust if I don't know soon, because I hate mysteries," muttered
Steve, as he copied the example of his chum.
When the two victorious hunters came upon the rest, Jim and Toby and
Bandy-legs got up off the log. They even smiled a little, but Max thought
there was something rather forced about this half grin.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Yes," added Steve impetuously, "what are you all pulling such long faces
for, just like it was a funeral or something; tell us that?"
"It _is_ something nigh as bad as a funeral," said Trapper Jim, a twinkle
appearing in his eye.
"We're certainly bereft--of our home," added Owen, making a wry face.
"What!" gasped Steve, looking from the speaker across to the cabin.
"It's not exactly a funeral, but an eviction," remarked Owen again.
"He means," said Bandy-legs, "we're kicked out of our cabin--that
to-night we'll have to sleep on the cold, hard ground, with only the sky
for a blanket. And what's worse, it was my turn to try that jolly old
bunk. Hang the luck, why couldn't he stay where he belonged and leave us
alone!"
"Say, if it's an animal that's got in, and is holding the fort, why,
let's go up and cross-fire him from the windows," suggested impetuous
Steve.
"Not on your life!" exclaimed Trapper Jim, catching hold of Steve before
he could break away. "That's just what we _don't_ want to do--disturb him
too violently or kill him while he chooses to hold the fort there."
"But why are you so careful about his health, Uncle Jim?" asked the
bewildered Steve.
"Because our guest happens to be a striped skunk!" was the appalling
answer he received.