THE END OF A THIEF.
The wildcat had evidently found the hanging carcass not a great while
before. At the time the three boys approached he had been regaling
himself as he clung to the upper part of the dangling buck.
Being only half satisfied he seemed angry at being disturbed in his meal.
The boys happened to be "down the wind" from him, and this would explain
how it was they came upon him apparently unawares. But when a wildcat is
in a frightfully bad humor he does not run off very easily, and this one,
according to what Uncle Jim had said, was unusually bold. He had proved
this by approaching the cabin of the trapper on the preceding night.
Crouching there on the swaying carcass of the deer, and with his chops
all bloody from his recent meal which they had disturbed, the bobcat
presented a truly terrifying appearance.
His short ears were laid back close to his head, his yellow eyes glowed
as though they were balls of phosphorescence, and the hair on his back
seemed to stand up on end.
Max had his gun in readiness, too.
He was not going to take any more chances than were necessary. Steve
seemed to be all ready to fire, and he knew the other to be a pretty good
shot. But, then, who could wholly depend upon such an excitable fellow?
Then the cat sprang!
Max heard Toby utter a shout of warning that was swallowed up in a
tremendous roar close to his ears. Max sprang aside, and he thought he
saw Steve doing the same sort of stunt. Toby was already safe behind the
friendly trunk of a tree.
To the relief of Max the leaping cat seemed to crumple up in the air. It
turned completely over, as though by the impact of something that had
struck it. And when it reached the ground it lay even beyond the hanging
venison.
"Wow!" came from Steve.
He was scrambling to his feet, having dropped his gun. There was a look
of mingled satisfaction, surprise, and pain upon his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Max, noticing how the other was rubbing his
right shoulder where the butt of his shotgun had rested.
"Hurts like fun!" replied Steve, making a wry face.
"You mean it kicked, don't you, Steve?"
"Kick? Well, I'll be sore for a month of Sundays," replied the other,
grunting as he touched a tender part. "Did you see me go over?"
"Sure I did, but I thought you were dodging the leap of the cat, the same
as I did myself," returned Max.
"Dodging nothing!" said Steve. "I tell you that pesky gun clean kicked me
off my pins. Never had it play me such a trick before."
Max stooped and picked up the shotgun. Then he laughed.
"It's all as simple as pie," he said.
"Do you mean I was that excited I pulled both triggers at once?" cried
Steve.
"Well, both hammers are down, and," breaking the gun as he spoke, "you
can see for yourself the shells are empty."
"Glory! No wonder I blew that old cat away, then!" cried Steve. "With
all those two dozen buckshot chasing through him the poor critter must
have been nearly torn to pieces. And there my fine door mat goes
a-glimmering!"
Investigation proved that Steve's fears were realized. The terrific
discharge at such close quarters had so riddled the skin of the wildcat
that it was not worth attempting to save.
"What a shame!" said Steve, as he got up again after examining the dead
beast. "He was a jim-dandy, too. If I'd only had a crack at him thirty
yards away instead of ten feet, I'd have saved that lovely pelt."
"But it was a corking good shot, I tell you, Steve," declared Max,
warmly.
"That's j-j-just what it was," added Toby, who had parted company with
the friendly tree, now that the danger seemed a thing of the past.
"To hit a tiger cat sitting on a limb is considered a good enough
showing," continued Max; "but to knock holes through him while he is in
the air jumping deserves high credit. Think of that every time your
shoulder hurts."
"Anyhow," remarked Steve, cheerfully, "I can bat right or left handed,
and I can shoot a gun the same old way; so this little accident won't
knock me out of the running. But I'd be happier if I hadn't just ruined
that skin."
"Well, better lug him home, anyway, if you feel able to," advised Max.
"Uncle Jim will be glad if he recognizes the crafty old thief of last
winter in this cat you knocked down."
"Guess I will," Steve remarked, "though he'll be a load to tote. We'll
wait and see how you come on with the venison."
"Oh, don't bother about that," said Max. "Toby and myself will look out
for all we want to take with us."
"But those antlers--I promised to decorate my room with those, Max!"
"That's all right," declared Max. "Come for them before we leave here.
You know the place, and by that time the foxes will have cleaned them
nicely for you."
And so things were arranged.
An hour later and the three lads headed for camp again. Each one toted
his share of the burden. But long before the cabin was reached Steve
began to feel sorry that he had determined to display the wildcat to the
others in order to prove his story, and also let Trapper Jim see whether
the victim of his double shot was the same despised and hated bobcat that
had given him so very much trouble in the preceding year.
Nevertheless Steve was a most determined boy. And having started in to
accomplish anything he could hardly be influenced to give it up just
because his back ached and his lame shoulder protested.
Max insisted on changing loads with him when they were halfway home.
"I can carry it better than you with your sore shoulder, Steve," he said,
when the other started to protest; "besides, I've made this bundle of
venison so it can be tied on your back. You'll find it a relief. Don't
say another word, for you've just _got_ to do it. All very good to show
how plucky and game you are, old fellow, but if you should get knocked
out by too much exertion, why, don't you see, it'll break up the whole
shooting match for the rest of us?"
Max put it that way for a purpose. He knew Steve's generous nature, and
that the other could be prevailed upon to do a thing for the sake of his
chums, when he would not budge so far as any personal benefit was
concerned.
"Oh, well, if that's so, perhaps I'd better throw the old thing away,"
Steve declared.
"No," said Max, "that would be foolish, after you've carried it two miles
now. Besides, I feel sure Uncle Jim'd like to see the cat. If he knows
his old tricky enemy has really and truly kicked the bucket, he'll rest
easier this year. One thief like this can give a trapper heaps of
trouble. He learns to look for his dinners in the traps."
"All right, then, Max; but it's awful good of you to change over,"
declared Steve. "Why, this load ain't a circumstance beside mine. I'm
sorry for you, though, and if--"
"Let up on that sort of talk, please, Steve. If I find it too much I'll
own up. Then Toby here can take his turn."
"S-s-sure thing," assented the party mentioned, smiling good-naturedly.
But, after all, Max carried the trophy of Steve's shots close to the
camp. Then, thinking the other might like to be seen coming in with his
own game, he made him change again, though Steve winced as he worked his
lame shoulder.
The others had returned, and were all busily engaged with the trophies of
the traps.
Trapper Jim, upon finding that Owen and Bandy-legs manifested a certain
amount of interest in all he did, took great pleasure in showing them
just how the skins must be removed from the animals and fastened securely
to the stretching boards, so they would not shrivel up when drying.
He managed to impart considerable interesting information while working,
and Owen, determined not to get all these facts twisted, was seen to be
scribbling something down every little while.
When they saw what constituted Steve's load, and heard from Max and Toby
the true story of how the savage animal was shot while making a
leap toward the young Nimrod, admiring looks were cast on Steve.
"Gewhittaker, but ain't he a savage-looking old monster, though!"
declared Bandy-legs, examining the dead cat; "a whole lot bigger'n that
one we got in the Great Dismal Swamp, fellows, let me tell you right now.
Look at the teeth and the needle-pointed claws, would you! I'm glad I
didn't have to face this critter."
"And Bandy-legs," Steve could not help saying, "this sweet little cat
didn't have its hind leg caught in a trap, either. It was free as air,
and if my lucky shot hadn't gone just where it did, I guess I'd be in
rags right now."
"Well," said the other, in no wise hurt by what Steve said, I never
claimed to be a hunter like you, Steve and you know it. I guess shooting
a trapped bear is about my limit. But I know _you_ wouldn't run away from
the biggest old pig-stealer that ever came down the pike."
"Thank you, Bandy-legs," said Steve, "and really and truly I don't
believe I would, not if I had my trusty gun along."
The afternoon was wearing away, and all of them believed that they had
been through quite enough excitement for one day. Besides, they had
covered a good many miles since morning and felt rather like resting.
Trapper Jim was getting some of the bear meat in readiness for cooking.
He knew it would be anything but tender, but long experience had taught
him how to pound it with a little contrivance he had, thus opening the
tissues and allowing the juices to escape. In this way a tough beefsteak
can be made more palatable if one cares to go to the trouble. Sometimes
he parboiled meat and then fried it.
As the sun went down Max stood outside the cabin, looking around at the
picture. The air was fresh and invigorating and he drew in a big breath,
as, turning to Owen who had just come out to join him, he remarked:
"Talk to me about the good times we've had before; I tell you nothing
ever happened to this lucky bunch that was halfway equal to this!"