BUGLE SEEKS REVENGE.
When the grouse and hares he had shot that day had been prepared for
market and placed in the hands of the express agent, Oscar ate his
supper, started a fire in his shop, and set to work to skin the black
fox and prepare it for mounting.
He intended that it should be his first contribution to the Yarmouth
museum, and he was anxious to make it the finest piece of work he had
ever put up.
It was long after eleven o'clock when he went to bed, but at daylight
he was in the woods with Bugle, and by nine o'clock three grouse, and
twelve out of a flock of fifteen quails he flushed just before reaching
Mr. Parker's hill-farm, had found their way into his game-bag.
During his excursion of the previous day, Oscar had found that birds
were unusually abundant in Mr. Bacon's neighborhood, and he was slowly
working his way in that direction, when Bugle suddenly jumped a hare
from a laurel thicket close in front of him.
Oscar, who was thinking busily about something else, was caught napping
that time, and before he could bring his gun to his shoulder, the game
had disappeared.
By running in a zig-zag manner and making long leaps from side to side,
he succeeded in dodging the hound in the thick bushes. But Bugle very
soon found out what his tactics were, and set to work to follow him up
in a methodical and scientific way.
Knowing that a hare always runs in circles at the beginning of his
flight, Oscar sprang upon a fallen log that lay close at hand, and
waited for Bugle to bring the game around to the point from which he
started.
He had scarcely settled himself to his satisfaction, when the report of
a gun rang through the woods, followed by a doleful yelp from Bugle.
Oscar stood motionless with astonishment. His first thought was that
somebody had shot at the hare and hit the hound instead. But a
moment's reflection showed him that such an accident could not possibly
happen under the circumstances.
The game had a good start, and the dog could not have overtaken him in
so short a time. Beyond a doubt the concealed hunter, whoever he was,
had shot Bugle on purpose.
With an exclamation of anger, Oscar sprang down from his log and ran
through the woods in the direction from which the report sounded.
When he had gone about a hundred yards, he saw Bugle coming to meet
him. The animal seemed to be greatly excited, for he bayed loudly, and
now and then he would stop and shake his head violently, or sit down
and scratch his ears.
Discovering his master, he ran up to him, laid his chin in his
outstretched hand, at the same time whining piteously, and calling
attention to his injuries by rubbing his paw over his head.
"I didn't suppose you had an enemy in the world, old fellow," said
Oscar, trembling all over with indignation. "I know who did it. It
was those two river boys who destroyed Leon's snares. Now we'll have
a settlement with them, if we can find them. Why, Bugle, you are more
scared than hurt after all."
While he was speaking, Oscar made a hurried examination of his
favorite's wounds, and to his great delight discovered that but two
shot had struck him, and they had passed through one of his huge ears
without touching his body at all.
Leon had not done as good shooting that morning as he usually did. No
doubt he was in a great hurry to have it over with, and became nervous
when he thought of the consequences that might follow his rash act, or
else the hound moved a little out of range just an instant before he
pulled the trigger.
At any rate the shot was not as effective as Leon meant it should be;
but the wounded member bled profusely, and his master's indignation
increased while he looked at it.
Having satisfied himself that the hound was not seriously injured,
Oscar shouldered his gun again and set out at the top of his speed to
overtake the bushwhackers.
A few minutes' run brought him to the thicket in which Leon's snares
were placed, and there he stopped, dropped the butt of his gun to the
ground, and finally walked over and seated himself on the very log on
which Leon and his cousin had been sitting a short time before.
He had different opinions now regarding the identity of the
bushwhackers. It was plain enough to him that the river boys had
nothing to do with the shooting. Here were Leon's snares--which had
been completely destroyed the day before--all in order, and ready to
catch the first thing that came within their reach.
He knew very well that the boys he had seen there on the previous day
had not come back and repaired the mischief they had done; they would
be the last ones to think of such a thing. It followed, then, that Leon
must have repaired the snares himself, that very morning; and, beyond a
doubt, it was he who shot the hound.
Oscar's indignation gave way to a feeling of sadness.
"We'll not look any further, Bugle," said he.
And the hound, which had stretched itself out at his feet, and seemed
to have forgotten all about the trifling injuries he had received,
rapped the leaves with his tail when his master spoke.
"I don't want to see that boy, for I might say or do something
spiteful. I can't understand it at all, for I am sure I never did
anything to Leon that should cause him to take such a revenge on me.
It can't be that he has anything against you, Bugle, for you never
troubled him or anybody else, did you? I can't understand, either, how
Leon happens to be in the woods to-day, for I know his father never
lets him stay away from school to go hunting. Let's go down to the
brook and take a bath, Bugle."
Leon and his cousin had not eluded pursuit so effectually as they
thought they had, for Oscar could have overtaken and confronted them in
less than thirty minutes after the shooting was done, had he felt so
inclined.
He heard the reports of the shot-gun and rifle which brought down the
squirrels that supplied the runaways with a portion of their dinner,
and that was the way he found out that Leon was not alone.
Oscar knew that the other boy could be none other than Frank Fuller,
but he never thought of him in connection with the shooting, for he
did not believe that Frank had courage enough to perform an act of
that kind. He knew, further, that he had only to follow up the stream,
on the banks of which he spent half an hour in washing the blood from
the hound's head, to find the two boys, for he saw the smoke of their
camp-fire rising above the tops of the trees.
But for the sake of the father who had been so kind to him, Oscar was
perfectly willing to overlook this unkindly act on the part of the
son. He saw that Bugle had forgotten all about it, and he would try to
forget it, too.
After the hound's head had been bathed a few times, the animal seemed
to be himself again; and when his master led him back to the place
where he had been shot he took up the trail of his own accord, and
followed it with all his usual energy and zeal.
Oscar went back to his log, and had scarcely taken up his position upon
it when the frightened hare broke cover and was neatly stopped.
Oscar continued to hunt through the woods in the direction of the
hollow in which Mr. Bacon lived, but at one o'clock he turned and
retraced his steps, with both nets of his game-bag completely filled,
and as large a bunch of birds and hares as he wanted to carry slung
over his shoulder.
The game was left at the depot in time to be placed upon the evening's
train for Yarmouth, and on his way home Oscar stopped at the
post-office, where he found two letters waiting for him.
One was from Calkins & Son, enclosing a check to pay for the grouse and
hares he had sent them the night before, and the other, to his joy,
proved to be from one of the committee who had charge of the money
which was to be expended in founding the university museum.
The letter was short and to the point, and there were no Latin or
Greek words in it to bother him. It contained an invitation for him to
visit the city at as early a day as possible, bringing with him some
specimens of his skill as a taxidermist. If he would drop the writer a
line by return mail, telling him on what day and at what hour he might
be expected to arrive in Yarmouth, some member of the committee would
meet him at the depot with a carriage.
Then came the following postscript:
Professor Kendall desires me to ask if you think there is any
way in which he can recover his gun, which was lost when the
president's boat was capsized? It is an imported weapon, costing
over three hundred dollars, and as it was a present from a very
dear friend he cannot bear the thought of giving it up. His
college duties have prevented him from visiting Eaton in regard to
the matter.
"I wonder what Sam Hynes will have to say now?" thought Oscar, as he
put the letter into his pocket. "If he doesn't come around to-night,
I must go over to see him. He is as much interested in my success as
I am, and I must keep him posted. Now, what ought I to take with me
besides that black fox, and when shall I tell them to look for me?"
Oscar kept his mind on these matters all the way home. He could have
started for the city the very next day, if it had not been for the fact
that the committee wished to see some of his specimens.
Those he decided to take with him must all be mounted over again, and
that was very particular work and could not be hurried. The birds must
all be perched in trees, and the standards that supported the trees, as
well as the board on which the black fox was placed, must be painted
and covered with moss and leaves preserved in paraffine, to make them
resemble the ground in the forest.
After that, neat boxes must be made in which to pack the specimens for
transportation; and when Oscar had thought it all over, he decided that
the work could not be done in less than a week.
He told his correspondent so in the letter he wrote to him as soon as
he reached home, and set the following Wednesday for the start. He
added a piece of information that must have delighted Professor Kendall.
He said that the gun had been recovered with but very little effort;
that it was safe in his (Oscar's) hands, and that, in order to save
express charges, he would take it with him when he went to Yarmouth, if
its owner would consent to wait so long for it.
When the letter had been dropped into the office, Oscar went home again
and resumed his work upon the black fox. While the specimen was growing
into shape under his skilful hands, he was suddenly startled by a loud
scream of terror, which sounded from the street, and was immediately
followed by angry bays and growls from Bugle.
Oscar, wondering what could be the matter, ran out into the yard with
all haste, and was greatly amazed to see Sam Hynes standing in front of
the gate holding fast with both hands to the loose, thick skin on the
back of the hound's neck.
The animal had reared himself upon his hind legs, and was struggling
desperately to reach Leon Parker and his cousin, Frank Fuller, who
stood a little further down the sidewalk, trembling with fear and
begging Sam not to let go his hold upon the enraged brute.
They knew that the hound recognized them, and was determined to take
revenge on them for what they had done that morning.
Had they taken to their heels, the animal would have become more
determined than ever. Their safest course was to stand still and trust
to Sam's grip.
Oscar had never before seen his favorite in such a fury. Strong as Sam
was, it was all he could do to hold him.
In half a dozen jumps Oscar reached the gate, and seizing Bugle around
the body under his forelegs, he dragged him into the yard with Sam's
assistance and closed the gate upon him.
Leon and his cousin felt perfectly safe now. They came slowly up the
sidewalk, their pale faces showing that they had sustained something of
a fright.
"What makes your dog act so?" asked Leon, in a trembling voice, at the
same time moving toward the outside of the walk, as he saw Bugle's
white teeth gleaming between the pickets. "Is he mad?"
"Mad!" repeated Oscar, who stood on the inside of the fence to keep the
hound from jumping over it. "I shouldn't wonder if he was. Wouldn't you
be mad if somebody should send a charge of bird-shot at your head?"
The two boys opened their eyes and tried to look surprised; but they
only succeeded in looking guilty.
"You don't mean to say that somebody shot him, do you?" exclaimed Leon.
"Yes, I do; and you were not far away at the time, either."
"It's false, every word of it!" cried Frank, with well-feigned
indignation. "We haven't seen him before, to-day."
"Look here, Towny," said Sam, "you can't take that back any too quick."
As he said this, he placed his hand on the latch and opened the gate,
which Oscar promptly closed again, holding fast to it with one hand,
while he restrained Bugle with the other. He had two obstinate and
determined ones to manage now.
"I mean he is mistaken, for we didn't do it," said Frank, who saw that
it would be no trouble at all to get into business then and there.
"That sounds better," replied Sam. "Now you keep still. Nobody was
saying a word to you when you chipped in."
Frank said no more, and neither did Leon. They stood silent for a
moment, and then with a common impulse walked toward home.
Oscar was glad to see them go, and so was Bugle, who speedily became
his own friendly self again; but Sam stood with his hands on the gate,
watching them, and wishing that he had not allowed Oscar to keep him in
the yard so easily.
"Come into the shop," said Oscar. "I've got something there that will
put you in good humor again. Now, as we walk along, tell me how this
trouble was brought about."
"Bugle started it," said Sam. "When I opened the gate, he came out to
meet me. I saw there was something the matter with his ear, and while
I was examining it, he happened to look down the street and saw Leon
and Frank coming. In an instant he was the maddest dog I ever saw. He
stuck up the hair on his neck, gave a growl, and charged through the
gate. Of course I didn't know what the matter was, for I had never seen
him act so before; but knowing that he intended to use the teeth he
showed so plainly, I made a grab at him as he went through the gate,
and, by the merest chance, caught one of his hind legs. Did you hear
Frank scream? I had no idea that a hound was so heavy and strong,"
added Sam, looking at his hands. "You came just in time, for he would
have slipped away from me in a minute. Hey!"
Sam, who was on the point of seating himself on the work-bench, had
just caught sight of the black fox. Having never seen an animal like it
before, he examined it with the greatest interest.
Oscar had a good budget of news for his friend, for the two last days
were big with events.
Taking them in order, he described all the incidents connected with
his hunt after the prize he was then engaged in mounting, and gave the
particulars of his encounter with the two boys who destroyed Leon's
snares.
He told all about the shooting of the hound, gave a list of the game he
had sent away during the afternoon, and finally handed out the letter
he had received from the committee.
To say that Sam was delighted with the letter, would but feebly express
his feelings. He could not say enough in praise of Oscar's good
fortune, although he talked about it until almost dark.
When he saw his friend making preparations to light the lamp over his
work-bench, Sam said good-night and started for home.