A HUNT.
When Tim O'Rooney left the island and crossed to the eastern shore of
the Salinas he had almost forgotten the existence of any such thing as
hostile Indians. He was after something to eat, and some how or other it
seemed to him that the climate of California had given him a most
ravenous appetite, which demanded satisfaction regardless of
consequences.
Touching land, he pulled his canoe up the bank to prevent its being
carried away by the current, and then plunged boldly into the forest.
The land from the river rose quite rapidly until it reached an elevation
of several hundred feet, when it was broken by gorges, ravines and
chasms, which made it rattier difficult to travel, and gave it an
extremely wild and picturesque appearance.
Fairly among these broken hills, Tim began to look for his game, but for
a time saw nothing to draw his fire. Finally he reached a wild-looking
gorge which descended over a hundred feet below him, while upon the
opposite side it rose to a greater height than the place upon which he
stood.
The Irishman was so struck with the wild scenery that he stood a few
moments contemplating it in silent admiration, when all at once he
became conscious that something else beside himself was engaged in
looking. Directly across the gorge, so as to be almost opposite to him,
he saw the head of an animal which he recognized at once as belonging to
a black-tailed deer.
"Be the powers! but you're jist the gintleman that I'd like to make an
acquaintance with, as me mither said when me father axed her hand in
marriage."
Tim drew his rifle carefully and rested it upon a rock beside him. The
deer gazed at him with that expression of stupid wonder which wild
animals assume when confronted with something, and they seem to be
debating with themselves whether to leap away at high speed or to stare
a moment longer.
The distance was so slight that Tim was sure of his aim. Nevertheless,
he took great care in sighting his piece, and as his finger gently
pressed the trigger, he held his breath. The bullet sped true, entering
just below and between the eyes, and with such deadly effect that the
mortally wounded deer sprung several feet in the air and fell dead
within a rod of the spot where it had stood when struck.
"That is plaisant," muttered the Irishman, as he saw the animal fall,
"and yez hav the distinguished honor of baing the first deer that Tim
O'Rooney brought down; but yez ain't the first he fired at--but whist,
Tim, don't be telling your secrets, for somebody else might larn them."
He now began making his way carefully down the gorge in order to ascend
upon the opposite side and secure his prize. He had no thought that the
report of his gun could reach the ears of hostile persons, and he did
not heed anything except the place and manner in which he put his feet
in going down and up the ravine.
After no little toiling he reached the dead body, and found that he had
shot a rather small black-tailed deer. It was in middling condition, and
was the very prize he was anxious to secure for his hungry self and
equally hungry friends.
As he stood admiring it, for the first time the thought of personal
danger crossed his mind, and he glanced hurriedly around him, but saw
nothing to occasion alarm. Then he leaned forward and gazed down the
gorge, and as he did so he descried three Indians looking up the side of
the chasm. Slight as was the distance his head projected, it was seen by
them, and he only drew it back to escape the effect of three discharges
of their guns.
"And that is your shtyle of saluting a gintleman is it?" said Tim in
some trepidation. "But yez has a forcible way of saying 'how do yez do,'
in this counthry, that a stranger would do well to imitate."
The Irishman hastily debated with himself upon the best plan to pursue
to escape the serious peril that threatened him, for he was sure the
savages would follow up their shot.
"The best thing I can do is to lave," he concluded. "There is strong
raison for belaving that I've given some one slight offinse by walking
into their house without ringing the bell."
He stooped over and lifted his game. He found its weight somewhat less
than he had suspected.
"I have no objiction to your going wid me. If I has to have the same
dispute about ivery deer I tips over, I may as well hang on to the fust
one."
Slinging it over his shoulder, he began his return with the carcass. It
proved beneficial to him in a way that he had little suspected. Not
wishing to go any further down the gorge, where there was reason to fear
a collision with the savages, he clambered still higher, taking great
care to shield himself from observation from below.
This made his labor excessive, and he was often obliged to pause and
rest himself. But at length he reached what might be termed the brow of
the hill, and began making his way along the edge of a smaller ravine,
that led toward the river. While thus engaged, the body of the deer
struck a projecting rock, and before Tim could save himself he rolled
over and over for a distance of twenty odd feet, coming down plump upon
the deer without injuring himself in the least.
"I'm obliged to yez," he said, as he rose and stared around with a
bewildered air. "That was kind in yez, and I'll not forget the favor."
Again raising his carcass to his shoulder, he resumed his journey toward
the river. But as he progressed the weight upon his shoulder seemed to
grow heavier, and he was obliged to pause and rest himself quite often.
On these occasions he looked around him half-expecting to see the three
savages spring out of the bushes.
If such a thing should occur, Tim had already decided upon his mode of
procedure. He intended to sink to the ground at once, with the body of
the deer as a sheltering breastwork, and make as gallant fight as
possible. His success in bringing down his game, when it was fully fifty
yards distant, gave him quite a flattering estimate of his prowess.
The Indians, as the Irishman had anticipated, hastened up the gorge to
secure the daring hunter, who had so audaciously exposed himself to
their anger. It required some time for them to find the exact spot where
the deer had fallen, and when they did so, they followed him readily by
the blood which had trickled from its drooping head, which as Tim bore
his prize away he little dreamed would betray the course he took.
When the point of Tim's fall was reached, all signs of his trail ceased,
and they supposed he had checked the flow of blood, and thus concealed
his tracks. The surface over which he traversed being rock and flinty
ground, left no evidence of his passage; and resigning, therefore, the
pursuit in this manner, they made their way leisurely down to the river
and waited until the hunter appeared.
Tim's heart beat high with hope when he found himself close by the
stream and saw nothing of his pursuers. The hasty signal given by Elwood
Brandon, as we have shown, caused him some uneasiness, but not being
repeated, and being very anxious to get back to the island, he placed
the deer in the canoe and paddled away.