WHO DESTROYED THE SNARES?
Arriving at the head of the island, the decoys were set out, and the
boys took their positions behind the blind, where they remained until
three o'clock that afternoon.
The shooting was all they could desire, and when they returned home
that night, Oscar had thirty-one and a half brace of ducks to ship to
the city, after Sam had taken out all he wanted for his own use. The
extra duck Oscar carried home for his next day's dinner, and the others
were duly forwarded to Calkins & Son.
The first thing Oscar did after he had eaten his supper was to take the
recovered shot-gun into his shop and give it a thorough overhauling.
The loads were drawn (Oscar laughed when he saw how small they
were--they would scarcely have ruffled the feathers of a mallard at
ten paces), the breech-pins were unscrewed, the locks taken to pieces,
and every part was oiled and rubbed until it shone like silver.
He worked upon it until ten o'clock, and when he put it together again
no one would have supposed that it had lain for a whole week at the
bottom of the river. It could not have been in better order when it
first came from the hands of the man who made it.
Oscar was up long before daylight on Monday morning, and, having eaten
breakfast, he set out with his gun on his shoulder and Bugle at his
heels, to try his luck with the black fox.
Now, Reynard, be on the alert. Bring all your cunning into play, and
make use of every artifice known to you, for you have no tyros to deal
with to-day.
Mr. Bacon's farm was eight miles from the village, by the road, but by
following a short cut across the hills three miles of this distance
could be saved.
Of course, Oscar took the nearer way, for his experience had taught him
that in foxhunting, when one is sometimes obliged to run a mile or two
through a thick wood in order to reach a runway before the game passes,
every step counts.
Bugle, much to his disgust, was kept at heel all the way, for his
master's heart was set upon securing a black fox, and he had no time to
waste with hares, grouse, or common red foxes.
Just as the sun was rising, the young hunter came to a standstill upon
the brink of a high bluff, and saw below him the "hollow" in which
Mr. Bacon's farm was situated. He had no difficulty in finding the
sugar-loaf hill, for he knew right where to look for it.
When he reached it, the hound was ordered to "hunt 'em up!" and he
was only too glad to do it. He disappeared in the bushes, while Oscar
climbed slowly up the hill for a short distance, and walked leisurely
around it in a direction opposite to that taken by the dog.
Finally, as he did not hear from Bugle, he stopped in a little open
space, where he could command a view of an acre or two of the hillside,
and sat down to rest and await developments.
Ten minutes passed, and then a long-drawn bay, which was so faint and
far off that it was scarcely audible, and which was repeated by the
echoes, until it seemed to sound from the hills on the other side of
the hollow, came to his ears; whereupon Oscar arose to his feet, placed
his back against a tree, and, cocking both barrels of his gun, held the
weapon across his breast in such a position that it could be brought to
his shoulder in an instant.
He did not get behind the tree and look around it, for he knew that if
he did he would surely be discovered by the fox, should he chance to
come that way. He stood out in plain sight, and that was the proper
thing to do.
The hill proved to be a great deal larger than Oscar thought it was,
for more than an hour passed before Bugle came around to him; but that
he had struck a trail, and a warm one, too, was evident, judging by the
way he gave tongue.
At last, his deep-toned bays began to ring out louder and clearer, and
then Oscar brought his gun to his shoulder, and standing as motionless
as a figure carved out of stone, kept his eye moving about the clear
space below him; but the fox did not break cover.
He must have passed that way, however, for in a few minutes more Bugle
dashed around the base of the hill, giving tongue at every jump, and
started for another hour's run around the sugar-loaf.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Oscar put down the hammers of his gun
and ran across the open space at the top of his speed.
"I was on the right track," thought he, "but not quite far enough down
the hill. Now, I wish I knew where that fellow turns off when he makes
up his mind to cross the hollow and go over to the hill on the other
side. Ah! Here is where he passed. If he tries that trick again he is
my fox."
The exclamations were called forth by the discovery of a well beaten
path which ran diagonally toward the summit of the hill.
A short examination of it showed the hunter that it had been made
by Mr. Bacon's sheep; and his experience told him that the fox had
followed that path in the hope of throwing off the hound.
Crossing newly ploughed fields where the scent will not lie, walking
on the top-rail of fences, wading in shallow brooks, and running
about among a flock of sheep, or following a road along which they
have recently passed, are stratagems to which a cunning old fox will
frequently resort to throw off the dogs that are pursuing his trail;
but Bugle was much too smart to be deceived by any such tricks, and he
had followed the fox up the path without the least trouble.
Being fully satisfied that he had found the right place at last, Oscar
stationed himself in front of a large tree that stood a short distance
up the path, and in such a position that he could look over the tops
of the bushes that surrounded it and command a view of the trail for
twenty yards on each side, and patiently waited for Bugle to drive the
fox around to him again.
It was a long time before he heard from the hound--longer than
before--and then he heard but a few faint bays, after which all was
silent again.
The fox had left the sugar-loaf and taken to another hill standing half
a mile further down the hollow. After playing around there for half an
hour, he came back to the hill he had left, and started around it in a
direction opposite to that he had at first followed.
Oscar's ears told him all this (he could distinctly hear the hound
whenever he rounded the base of the hill nearest the hollow), and he
prepared to act accordingly. He moved a little further around his tree,
and, keeping his gaze directed up the path, cocked both barrels of his
gun and drew it to his shoulder.
He had not occupied this position more than five minutes before the fox
came in sight. It was the one he was looking for, as sure as the world,
for there was that white tip on the end of his tail, and the rest of
him was as black as jet.
He was taking matters very coolly, trotting down the path as though he
had no particular business on hand, and the first thing that told him
of the hunter's presence was the report of the gun which sent a charge
of heavy shot into his head and breast. He bounded high into the air,
and when he struck the ground again he rolled rapidly down the hill,
sending the twigs and withered leaves in every direction.
He struggled desperately to get upon his feet and continue his flight,
but he was too hard hit.
Oscar dashed down the hill after him, and when he came up with the fox,
he found him lying motionless on a little pile of leaves, which the
winds had heaped against the side of a fallen log. He had robbed his
last henroost.
The boy picked him up and looked at him. It was the first black fox he
had ever seen; but he had read and heard enough about the species to
know that they were very rare and valuable, and he was not a little
elated over the success that had attended his hunt.
After loading his gun, Oscar placed his prize on the ground, where he
could have a fair view of him, and sat down on the log to admire him
and wait for Bugle.
It was an hour or more before the hound appeared, and his long absence
accounted for the slow and deliberate movements of the fox. The cunning
animal had doubled on his trail, and, by making use of extra speed, had
placed such a distance between himself and his pursuer that haste was
no longer necessary.
If left to himself, he would probably have curled up in some warm spot
and rested until the hound came within hearing, when he would have
jumped up and continued his flight.
When Bugle arrived on the ground, he did not attempt to bite the fox,
as he generally did. He simply smelt it, wagged his tail vigorously in
response to his master's caresses and words of praise, and then stood
off and looked up at him, as if awaiting further orders.
"We'll have something to eat, old fellow, before we do any more
hunting," said Oscar, who always talked to his favorite as if the
animal could understand every word he said. "We have earned a good
dinner by this morning's work, and we'll go and get it. I declare, it
is ready now. I had no idea it was so late. Let's hurry up!"
Oscar knew that dinner was ready, because he heard signals exchanged
between Mr. Bacon's house and the field. First, a shrill female voice
shouted:
"Hooppee!"
The call was repeated two or three times, and then an answering "Yeep!"
uttered in deep, masculine tones, arose from the field below.
Oscar, followed by Bugle, hurried down the hill, clambered over the
fence, and joined Mr. Bacon and his two broad-shouldered sons, who
had been at work repairing a stone wall. They were on their way to
the house, but they stopped when they saw him coming, and Mr. Bacon,
discovering the prize he carried over his shoulder, brought his hands
together with a loud clap, and shouted out a cordial welcome.
"Well, you done it, didn't you?" he exclaimed. "That's the feller,
'cause I'd know him two mile off, if I could see him that fur. I told
the boys I reckoned mebbe that was you a-shootin' up there, an' I had
half a notion to send one on 'em up to see. Come on now, and get the
dinner I promised you--you and Bugle. We'll fill him so full of meat
that he won't do no more huntin' this day, that there hound-dog won't."
"Not meat, please!" said Oscar; "it spoils a dog's nose. Bugle has
little besides corn-bread and vegetables at home, and he is entirely
satisfied with his diet."
"Well, I reckon mebbe Johnnycake'll do him, won't it? Wife always has
Johnnycake on Monday, 'cause it's wash-day, you know."
When the farmer and his sons had examined Oscar's prize to their
satisfaction, and had told some remarkable stories of the skill he had
exhibited in eluding his former pursuers, Mr. Bacon led the way toward
the house.
His wife was loud in her praises, and made Oscar laugh by declaring
that she "knowed that there fox was gone up when she heard that him and
Bugle was goin' to get after him."
Having performed his ablutions, Oscar was shown to a seat at the table,
which fairly groaned under the weight of the good things that were
piled upon it.
Mrs. Bacon was sorry she hadn't something better to offer the
successful sportsman, but Oscar could see no necessity for any
apologies. It was not a "picked-up" dinner, if it was washing-day. He
thought the farmer must have an idea that fox-hunters were blessed with
more than ordinary appetites, for the plate that was passed over to him
was filled so full that not another thing could have been placed upon
it.
The meal was enlivened with conversation on various topics, and when it
was finished, and the farmer had smoked his after-dinner pipe, Oscar
picked up his fox and gun, thanked Mrs. Bacon for the good dinner she
had given him, and accompanied the three men to the field. There he
took leave of them and struck out across the hills toward home.
He was in no hurry now, so he walked along very leisurely, and picked
up quite a respectable bag of game on the way. Bugle drove three hares
around to him, and twice as many grouse fell to his double-barrel.
At length, when the increasing gloom of the woods told him that the day
was drawing to a close, Oscar tied his game together in a bunch with a
strong cord he always carried in his game-bag for that purpose, called
Bugle to him, and set out at a brisk walk.
As he was working his way through a dense thicket on Mr. Parker's
hill-farm, he came suddenly upon two boys, who, just as he appeared in
sight, disappeared, dropped a bundle of something behind a log and took
to their heels. One of them glanced over his shoulder as he ran, and
finally halted and faced about.
"Don't be afraid, Jeff," he shouted to his retreating companion; "it's
nobody but Oscar Preston."
Jeff stopped as soon as he could check his headlong flight, and when he
had satisfied himself as to the identity of the approaching hunter, he
came slowly back.
Oscar knew the two boys, but he never had had anything to do with
them. They lived near the river, and belonged to what the order-loving
portion of the villagers called a "hard crowd."
"What have you been up to?" asked Oscar, as soon as he came within
speaking distance. "Something mean, I'll warrant."
"No, we haven't!" answered both the boys in concert. "We haven't been
up to anything."
It was only necessary that Oscar should use his eyes to detect the
falsehood. One glance around explained everything. The snares which
Leon had worked so hard to build were all ruined. Oscar knew that they
were Leon's snares, for no one else would be likely to build them on
his father's grounds.
"You are a contemptible couple!" said he indignantly; "although I don't
know that one can expect you to be anything else. What made you do it?"
"Well, what made Leon shoot my tame pigeons the last time he was down
to the river?" whined one of the boys. "He knowed they was mine, but he
plumped 'em over all the same. I said I'd spile something of his'n some
day, to pay for it, and I've done it."
"That's a pretty way to get even with him, isn't it?" said Oscar.
"I've the best notion in the world to take you both by the neck and
knock your heads together. Did you find any birds in these snares?"
"Nary one; and no rabbits neither."
"What did you do with the triggers and strings?"
"We heaved 'em into the bushes as fur as we could, and it's too dark to
find 'em again. Say, Oscar, you won't tell nobody about this, will you?
That's a good feller."
"No blarney, now. I'll tell _you_ this much," was Oscar's angry reply;
"if I catch either of you in an act of this kind again, I'll give you a
shaking that will do your hearts good. Now, remember it!"
So saying, he walked past the young vandals, who took care to give him
all the room he wanted, and disappeared in the thicket which covered
the other side of the hill.
The two boys did not move or speak until they were certain that he had
really gone, and then one of them hurried to the fallen log, snatched
up the bundle that was lying behind it, and ran off in a direction
lying at right angles with the one Oscar had taken, his companion
following close behind him.
The bundle, which seemed to be about as heavy as the boy could
conveniently manage, was made up of quail, grouse, and hares,
rightfully belonging to Leon.
If Oscar had not been in such haste to reach home and prepare his black
fox for mounting, if he had taken a little time to look into things,
as he afterward wished he had done--a certain incident we have already
recorded never would have happened.