TEST SHOTS――THE SNOW-STORM.
It was indeed a moment fraught with great peril to the little party. As
if it were not enough to meet the enraged monster in front without the
appearance of this second giant, stealing upon their rear so swiftly
and silently!
Quickly understanding the situation, and vexed to think he had missed
the moose at which he had fired, Rob Rogers began to reload his gun
with a dexterity an older woodsman might have envied. In a trice he had
poured a stiff charge of powder into the barrel of his weapon, and,
as brief as was the interval, he was actually dropping a bullet down
its throat as the ringing sound of the Woodranger’s firearm awoke the
silence. In answer to “Old Danger’s” loud alarm, the oncoming moose
gave a terrific roar of pain, staggered for a moment in his advance,
and then fell in a huddled heap a few yards away.
Meanwhile Norman had not been idle. Knowing that not only his life but
the safety of his companions as well depended on his efforts, he calmly
faced the newcomer. The report of the forester’s rifle had scarcely
rung out before that of his own succeeded. Then there was a second
outburst of pain, a crash in the undergrowth, and Norman suddenly felt
himself hurled fiercely to the earth.
The charge of the dying moose was its last movement, for it fell near
the young ranger, one long fore limb over his body and the bulky neck
over his head!
“Norman’s killed!” cried Billy Stark, the first to break the silence
following the end of the startling fight. “The moose――”
“God spare him!” cried the Woodranger, ignoring everything else, as
he sprang to the side of the unconscious youth. With swift action he
lifted the moose’s leg, and gently dragged our hero away from the body
of the dead creature. Then he fell upon his knees over him and began to
rub his hands and chafe his temple. “I’ll ne’er lift head again if he
be dead. Look up, lad! Open your eyes. Smile once a-more!”
The other boys had now gathered about the spot, upon which the pale
moon threw a weird light, making their forms look phantom-like, as they
flitted to and fro.
“Is he dead?” asked Rob, in a low tone.
“I pray not, lad. Get me a leetle water from the pond.”
Rob lost no time in obeying the simple command, and then, as the
Woodranger bathed Norman’s brow with the cooling liquid, he exclaimed,
happily:
“He lives, lad! Thank God I am not his slayer in dragging him down
here.” Then, as if this were not sufficiently plain, he added: “It
would have seemed like wanton killing for me to have ’lowed him to be
taken away in that keerless manner. I oughter knowed! I oughter knowed!”
The strong man showed great emotion, and as Norman started to a sitting
posture he caught him in his arms, crying:
“Forgi’ me, laddie, forgi’ me! Say that you are not hurt and that you
forgi’ an ol’ man’s keerlessness. I love thee none the less, lad, that
I ’lowed you to fall in sich a trap.”
“I am not hurt, Woodranger,” said Norman, now able to think and act
clearly. “The old fellow did give me a hard thwack over the head, but I
think I came out of it better than he did. Is the other one dead?”
“I think I may be safe in saying so, seeing Ol’ Danger spoke his
purtiest piece. But that was an awful indiscretion o’ mine. I do not
wish to dissemble, but I was deceived o’er that other creatur’. I had
no idee he had the life to do that.”
“Do you think it is the moose which was beaten by the other on the
shore of the pond?” asked Rob, who showed great joy to find that his
friend had come off so well, after all.
“I think so, lad. He wasn’t so hard hit as we s’posed. But you may see
for yourself.”
Taking the hint, Rob ran out to where the battle between the giants had
taken place, and though he found ample evidence of the fight, he failed
to find the body of the smaller moose. There could be no longer any
doubt. He had rallied sufficiently to make his attack on Norman. It was
a light-hearted group of moose hunters which gathered about the huge
forms of the monarchs of the wilderness.
“You have got a knack at shooting, lad,” said the Woodranger,
addressing Norman, “or you could ne’er have fired a shot like that.
Your life depended on it. I had to use my ammunition on the other, or
it might have fared ill with us from him. Mind you, I say _might_ have
fared ill, for no man can foretell what a mad moose may do.”
“To think,” said Rob, who had not recovered from his chagrin at the
thought that he had missed his mark, “that I should have blundered so.
Don’t blame me, Woodranger, but I never felt more certain of my aim.”
“Ne’er chide thyself, lad. Older gunners than you have missed their
moose. But ere we mourn let us see if you did not after all send the
bit o’ lead where it oughter done its duty.”
Upon examination, it was found that all three of the bullets fired by
the three boys had hit the animal, and one of them had touched a vital
spot. This proved to be Rob’s bullet beyond dispute, so that he felt in
better spirits.
“You see, lad, you have no reason to complain. You did remarkably well;
but a moose, like a red, dies hard. Perk up, lad! it’s myself who
desarves the chiding for throwing away my lead on a creatur’ a’ready
death-struck. They be monster moose. This a-one will not weigh less’n
thirteen hundred, while the other is scurcely a hundredweight lighter.”
Continuing to talk while he kept his hands busy, the Woodranger soon
removed the antlers of the giant brutes. The horns from the larger, as
near as they could estimate, were over five feet, and the blades were
over a foot in width. This pair had twenty-six points, while those
of the other, but a trifle smaller, had twenty-four. Both pairs were
in good condition, and the boyish possessors felt extremely proud of
them, it having been voted that Norman should have those belonging to
the moose he had killed, while Rob seemed entitled to the others. The
Woodranger waived all claim to them.
“You fairly ’arned ’em, lads. I have memory sufficient o’ this
amazement without sich reminders.”
Altogether it was an adventure none of them would be likely to forget,
but it had ended happily, and all were pleased with their night’s work.
It was past midnight before they got back to their camping-place under
the cliff of old Pawtuckaway, and the boys were glad of an opportunity
to rest. Both moose had been dressed by the Woodranger, and the meat,
after reserving a generous portion to take to camp, had been spitted
upon trees, whence they could get it later.
The sky was then overcast, and inside of two hours it was snowing hard,
so that four or five inches fell before sunrise. It continued to snow
until noon, and the hunters remained in camp under such poor shelter as
they had hastily raised. The tedium of the occasion was removed by the
Woodranger’s quaint stories of forest life, of which he seemed to have
no end. His keen power of observation was apparent in all that he said,
and the boys learned more that day than they had ever dreamed before
of the lives and habits of the dumb creatures of the wilderness. That
afternoon they had a grand hunt for deer, succeeding in getting two
fine specimens.
The next day the boys were glad to return to their homes, loaded down
with as much game as they could carry, with several loads carefully
placed where the wild beasts could not reach it, for them to go after
whenever they should find it convenient. While we are speaking of the
matter, it may be well to say that this was done at one trip, through
the kindness of Mr. Stark, who lent the boys his oxen to draw home the
load. There were roads and cart-paths to within two or three miles of
Pawtuckaway, which they followed with the team, making it easier to go
and come, though there had to be a goodly amount of lugging and tugging
to be done at the end of the route.
Of course warm welcomes greeted them at home, and Norman was relieved
to find that nothing had been seen or heard of Gunwad. However, they
were all to be forcibly reminded of him a few days later, when one of
the most disgraceful affairs which blot the history of Old Harrytown
took place.