ZACK BITLOCK’S DEER.
Norman was returning from Mr. Stark’s at the close of the day, when,
as he was passing the path leading from the road to the ruins of
Christo’s wigwam, he fancied he heard some one speak. At a loss to know
the meaning of the sound, he approached the little clearing about the
Pennacook’s home. As he drew nearer the cries became plainer, though
not more intelligible, and he discovered the dark figure of Christo,
the homeless warrior, standing at the edge of the forest.
Half-concealed by the deep shadows falling about him, the Pennacook was
looking intently at the little pile of ashes which marked his ruined
home, and his right arm moved slowly to and fro, while he continued his
low, intense speech, which Norman could not fail to know was expressive
of the deepest feeling, though he could not understand a word.
[Illustration: “HIS RIGHT ARM MOVED SLOWLY TO AND FRO.”]
“I wish Woodranger was here,” thought our hero as he stood a silent
spectator of the dramatic scene. “I dare not break in upon him.”
These thoughts had barely shaped themselves in his mind, when the
Indian, with a wider and fiercer sweep of his arm, suddenly turned
away, and pulling his blanket closer about his tall form, disappeared
in the forest, and never again was he seen in the vicinity of Namaske.
Norman resumed his homeward journey with a heavy heart.
“I am sorry for him. I wish it had not happened. If Woodranger had only
been here he might have pacified him.”
Upon reaching his home, he found his grandfather still labouring under
great excitement over the conversation he had had with the Woodranger.
“He’s a strange man, laddie. I dinna read him.”
“What did he say, grandfather?” asked Norman, who was both surprised
and interested to know what the forester had said to so excite his
grandfather.
“Say, lad? He said much. Why, he said to my teeth――an’ me a
MacDonald!――he said twa times, in as many words, that I was but a puir,
misguided fule! Min’ ye, he said that, an’ I ne’er raised a finger. I
was――I was dumb! No ane e’er lived to say that afore. Say, lad, d’ye
think I’m gaun awa’ wi’ my min’? He said that I was auld afore my time;
that my stalwart frame was in its prime. Weel, it may be he was not sae
far frae the truth, aifter a’. Is my form so bent, lad?” and the old
Highlander drew himself up, until he stood as straight as a post, six
feet and three inches of stalwart manhood.
“You were never more erect, grandfather, and you really are not so very
old.”
“Sixty-eight, laddie. Cum tae think o’t, I’m nae sae dreadfu’ auld. The
MacDonalds hae always been lang-lived. But that strange man compared us
as faither an’ son. Can he be sae young?”
“Woodranger once said he was forty-four. People have got into a
peculiar habit of calling him old, when――”
“Just the age o’ ma Alick, the bonniest laddie in a’ Scotland!”
exclaimed Mr. MacDonald, his excitement returning. “Gang an’ find that
Woodranger, laddie, as soon as may be. I want to hear him ca’ me a
_fule_ again, and see if I will stand idle by.”
The Woodranger, however, very much to their disappointment, was not
seen again in that vicinity for some time. Mr. MacDonald continued to
speak of him almost every day, and declare that he would find him.
About that time Mr. Stark was troubled by the depredations of a deer
in his corn shed, which he had built on to the end of his barn. The
creature had come two or three times, and, having got a taste of the
grain, was pretty sure to come again. With so many boy hunters in the
family, of course he had only to mention the fact to them, to be rid
of the troublesome visitor. But he happened to do so in the presence of
Zack Bitlock, who at once said:
“Let me look arter the creatur’, ’squire. I’m in want o’ some meat.
’Sides, th’ boys will fill th’ poor creatur’ full o’ lead, an’ as like
as not let it git away.”
Anticipating that there might be fun in store for them by yielding to
Goodman Bitlock, the boys did so with good grace. This would not hinder
them from being on hand to witness the squatter’s work, and also to get
the deer if it escaped the other, as they expected it would.
Goodman Bitlock’s gun was a poor affair, as we already know, and he was
an indifferent marksman. But these facts did not enter into his plans.
He first borrowed the long deer thong which had served little Archie
Stark to such good purpose in hanging the bear. Subsequent events,
by the way, would seem to indicate that that affair suggested to him
his plan. He made a running noose in one end of the line and adjusted
it to such a nicety that the unsuspecting deer would thrust its head
through when it reached into the crib for its morning meal. The other
end he carried back into the loft among the corn shucks, and his simple
arrangements were complete.
Late in the evening Goodman Bitlock crawled up into the midst of
the corn shucks to wait and watch for his victim. Not to be caught
unawares, he got a firm hold on the end of the line and then began his
lonely vigil.
It is quite likely he fell asleep, for the deer did not appear on the
scene to act its part until the day was breaking, when the boys, Billy,
Johnny, and Archie, who were concealed in the cattle shed, saw a fine
looking buck approach the place and thrust its head and antlers through
the noose, and begin to eat ravenously of the succulent corn. But its
movements had partly dislodged the line, and feeling it drawing upon
its neck, the buck sprang backward with its first show of fright.
The violent movement of the buck brought a wild cry from the loft,
giving it genuine alarm. The terrified deer tried to break away, and
started toward the forest with mighty bounds. This quickly brought
through the opening the doubled-up figure of Zack Bitlock.
Somehow the squatter had got tangled up in the line, and now he found
it impossible to get clear. He gave utterance to half smothered cries,
as he was rudely jerked along at the heels of the terrified deer.
“Help――save me!” he cried. “I’m a goner!”
The boys quickly left their place of concealment, to save the
unfortunate man, whose situation was as perilous as it was ridiculous.
Billy and Johnny had their guns with them, but, owing to the peculiar
situation of Goodman Bitlock, a shot would endanger his life. So, while
they followed at the top of their speed, the buck fled much faster
toward the woods. Whatever was done to save the victim must be done
quickly.
“He’ll kill Zack!” cried Archie, who was finding it impossible to keep
up with his brothers. It certainly looked as if poor Goodman Bitlock
was on his last deer hunt.
But an unforeseen accident suddenly changed the situation. The
frightened deer, finding its flight at last stopped by the top of a
fallen pine, instead of going around it made a bound into the air, to
leap the obstruction. It cleared even the topmost branches, but it had
not counted on the burden it was dragging away. The consequence was,
Goodman Bitlock was jerked up under the mass of branches, and there
he stuck. The deer, on the other side, managed to get his feet to the
ground, but beyond that he could not go.
By the time the boys reached the scene, Bitlock had recovered
sufficient to begin a series of cries that was heart-rending:
“Save me! I’m hung dead! I’m a goner!”
“Have you got the deer, Goodman Bitlock?” asked Johnny, who, finding
there was no cause for further alarm, enjoyed the situation. This was
especially the more gratifying, as the squatter had boasted loudly of
his scheme for catching the creature. His reply was filled with despair:
“Got th’ Ol’ Harry! I wish I hadn’t. Shoot him, quick!”
“But that would fill him full of lead!” replied Johnny, with provoking
coolness. “Say, Zack, that is a pretty certain way of――”
“Kill him, Johnny! He’s sawin’ me right in two! Oh――oh――oh! Cut th’
rope if ye can’t shoot him.”
The boys did not delay longer, but advanced into the thicket so as to
get a shot at the struggling buck. Before they could get into position
to fire, the buck suddenly bounded off into the woods with redoubled
speed. Goodman Bitlock had managed to get a knife out of his pocket and
cut the thong.
Though they had lost the deer, the boys felt they had got as much sport
out of the affair as they had expected.
“Gol-dang me!” exclaimed the discomfited squatter, as he scrambled to
his feet, looking exceedingly battered and bruised but not seriously
hurt, “when I git over this, boys, I want ye to larrup me with a
hickory sprout till ye git tired. Say, ef ye won’t say ennything erbout
my foolishness I’ll make ye th’ handsomest pair o’ snow-shoes ye ever
put on yer feet, I will, honest.”
So the matter was dropped by the boys, except among themselves; but the
victim must have told some one himself, for the story leaked out, and
for a long time Bitlock’s deer was a standing joke in Old Harrytown.