AT A DEER HUNT
In a moment there was a wild commotion throughout the lodge. All of the
others sprang up, and reached for their weapons.
“What is it, a bear?” gasped Harry.
“A snake! a snake!” screamed Fred. “Save me, before he stings me!”
The lantern had been turned low. Now Joe turned it up, while Joel
Runnell kicked the fire into a blaze. In the meantime, Fred pulled both
the blanket and the reptile from him, and cast them upon the floor.
“Let me get at him,” said old Runnell, and he stepped into the sleeping
room as the snake crawled from under the blanket and started across the
floor for a hole in the corner.
Bang! it was a hasty shot, and in that confined space it made the ears
of all the boys ring. For the time being, the smoke was so thick nobody
could see, and more than one began to cough.
“Did you—you fetch him?” faltered Fred. He felt so weak in the lower
limbs that he had to rest on the edge of a bunk for support.
“Think I did,” was the laconic reply of the old hunter. He held the
double-barreled gun ready for a second shot.
But this was unnecessary, for as the smoke cleared away it was seen that
the snake had been literally cut to pieces by the dose of shot. The tail
still whipped over the floor, and, catching it up, the old hunter threw
it on the back of the fire, and a moment later the head and the bits of
body followed.
“Was it a rattler?” questioned Harry.
“No, it was only an ordinary everyday snake,” answered Joel Runnell. “I
reckon the heat warmed him into life. But he scared you, didn’t he,
Fred?”
“Well-er—it wasn’t very pleasant,” answered the stout youth. “I don’t
want another such bunkmate.”
“I guess none of us do,” came from Joe. “Ugh! it makes one shiver to
think of it.”
“I’m going to search around for more,” said Harry, and took up the
lantern. The others helped him, but no more snakes were to be found.
As Joel Runnell had predicted, New Year’s day proved clear, and the
bright sun, shining on the snow, was fairly dazzling.
“We’ll go out after dinner,” said the old hunter. “The sun will soon
make the top of the snow right for snow-shoeing,” and so it proved.
The boys were anxious to try the snowshoes, or _skis_, as they are
called in certain parts of the country. They had already tried them
around the yard at home, with varying success. Joel Runnell was an
expert in using them, and he gave them all the advice he deemed
necessary.
“Take your time, and make sure of what you are doing,” he said. “If you
try to hurry at the start, you’ll surely take a tumble. Swiftness comes
only with practice.”
It had been decided that they should cross to the mainland on a hunt for
deer. About two miles and a half away was a cove to which the deer came
regularly at certain seasons of the year. This was known, however, to
nobody but Joel Runnell, and he took good care to keep the fact to
himself.
An early dinner was had, and they started off about midday, after
closing up the lodge and putting a wooden pin through the hasp of the
door. A rough board was nailed over the open window, so that no wild
animal might leap through to rummage their stores.
“Now for a nice deer apiece!” exclaimed Joe, as they made their way to
the lake shore.
“I must say you don’t want much,” said Harry. “I guess we’ll be lucky if
we get one or two all told.”
“Nothing like hoping for the best,” grinned old Runnell. “It might be
that we’d get two each, you know.”
“I want a good picture of a deer as much as anything,” went on Harry,
who had his camera swung from his shoulder.
“Humph! that’s all well enough, but we can’t live on photos,” grumbled
Fred. “A nice juicy bit of venison will just suit me to death after such
a tramp as this is going to be.”
As soon as the thick undergrowth was left behind, they stopped and
donned their snowshoes. Out on the lake the snow lay in an unbroken mass
for miles. Over this they found snowshoe walking to be comparatively
easy.
“Snowshoes are all right on a level,” old Runnell explained. “It is
going up-hill and coming down that tests one’s skill.”
“Oh, I think this is lots of fun!” cried Harry, and started to run. All
went well for fifty yards, when he struck an extra high drift of snow
and pitched into it headlong.
“Oh, for a snap-shot!” sang out Joe, merrily. “Harry, lend me the camera
until I press the button on you.”
“Not much!” spluttered his brother. “Wuow! But that was a cold plunge!”
he added, as he freed himself of the snow. “Tell you what, there is more
science in using these things than one imagines.”
The edge of the cove was covered with pines and spruces, all hanging low
with their weight of snow. Back of this fringe was a small opening,
filled with young saplings.
“The deer have been around here, that’s certain,” said Joel Runnell, as
he pointed to the saplings. “See how they have been peeling off the
bark.”
He told them to look to their firearms, and they did so, while Harry
made certain that his camera was ready for use. Then they continued
their journey, with eyes and ears on the alert for the first appearance
of any game.
It was all of an hour before the old hunter called a halt. He pointed to
a track in the snow just ahead of them.
“Deer!” he said, in a half whisper. “Five of ’em. Go slow now, and make
no noise.”
At this announcement the heart of each of the youths began to flutter,
and they clutched their guns tightly, while Harry brought his camera
around to the front.
There was a slight rise of ground in front of them, at the top of which
was a belt of brushwood. To the right was a hollow, and to the left
something of a cliff.
The brushwood gained, Joel Runnell, who was in the lead, motioned for
the boys to crouch low. They did as ordered, and came up to him as
silently as so many ghosts.
The sight that met their gaze thrilled them to the core. The five deer
were just beyond, feeding on the tender bark of the young trees in that
vicinity. They were knee-deep in the snow. A magnificent old buck was
leader of the herd.
“Let me take a picture first!” whispered Harry, and swung his camera
into position. The sun was shining directly on the game, and the
grouping could not have been better. Click! and the snap-shot was taken.
Then, to make sure of a picture, he took a second shot from a slightly
different position.
As the second click was heard, the old buck raised his head to look
around and listen. The wind was blowing from the deer toward the
hunters, so the buck scented nothing unusual.
“Joe, take the one on the left; Harry, try for that on the right; Fred,
shoot the one near the big rock. I’ll take the buck,” whispered Joel
Runnell.
All agreed, and the firearms were brought into position. Fred was
trembling as with “buck fever,” and Harry was equally excited.
“When I count three, fire,” said the old hunter. “Ready? One, two,
three!”
Crack! crack! bang went the rifles and the shotguns, in a scattering
fire. On the instant the old buck bounded into the air and fell
lifeless, with a bullet through his left eye. The deer Joe had aimed at
was mortally wounded, and fell where it had stood, kicking and plunging,
and sending the snow and ice flying in all directions.
Harry and Fred had not been so fortunate, although each had “nipped” his
mark, Fred landing some shot in the deer’s side, and Harry striking in
the hind quarter. In the meantime, the fifth deer turned, and sped from
sight with the swiftness of the wind.
“Hurrah! we’ve got two at least!” shouted Joe, and ran forward to finish
his prize. This was an easy matter, and a second shot caused the deer to
stop struggling at once.
“Look out for those other chaps!” yelled Joel Runnell, suddenly. “They
are going to attack us!”
He was right. The two wounded deer were hurt enough to turn ugly, and
now each came on with eyes that were full of fight. One sprang at Joe,
and with a well-directed blow sent that youth sprawling headlong over
the game he had brought low. The second charged on Fred, knocking the
stout youth over likewise and then preparing to gore him with all the
power of those cruel-looking prongs.