A RECRUIT.
The stranger ahead of the two boys was Herbert Watrous, the city youth
upon whom Nick had sat down so hard three years before.
He was unusually tall when visiting the country school, and during the
intervening time he had continued to grow upward, until his height
equaled that of an ordinary man. He was scarce fourteen years old, but
he lacked very little of six feet in altitude.
He was correspondingly slim, so that he looked as if a smart blow on the
back would snap him in two. He was arrayed in a most gorgeous hunting
suit of green, with all the paraphernalia which the hunter from the city
thinks necessary when he honors the country with a tramp for game.
Herbert, beyond question, was fitted out in fine style, and there was
nothing lacking, except perhaps skill. He carried one of the finest of
breech-loading rifles, which would have been very effective in the hands
of a party who knew how to use it.
The face of the lad had not changed in expression to any extent since
Nick Ribsam drove him into the earth, but there was some downy furze on
his upper lip and chin, while his voice was of that squeaky and
uncertain tone heard when "changing."
"Hallo! is that you?" was the rather superfluous question of Herbert, as
he waited for the two boys to come up. He recognized Nick, but of course
was a stranger to Sam Harper, to whom Nick introduced him, and there was
a general shaking of hands all around.
Young Watrous glanced rather askance at his old school-mate, but there
was such a cordial welcome on the part of the young "American of Dutch
descent" that all reserve vanished.
A certain loftiness of manner and conceit of expression, however, were
natural to Herbert, and he did not fail to look down, in a literal and
figurative sense, upon the two hunters.
"That's a fine gun you have there, Herbert," said Nick, venturing to
reach out his hand for it.
"Yes," answered Herbert, passing it to him rather gingerly, "be careful
not to drop it."
The gun was a beautiful weapon, known as the long range "Creedmoor." It
was a Remington, highly finished, and cost $125. It had a front sight,
known as the wind-gauge, with the spirit-level, and with the vernier
sight on the stock, which is raised from its flat position when the
hunter wishes to shoot a long distance, and is graduated up to a
thousand yards, carrying a 44 cartridge.
"That isn't of much account in this part of the world," said Sam Harper,
passing the weapon back; "it's light enough, for I don't suppose it
weighs more than six or seven pounds."
"It's just the thing for these woods," said Herbert, in his important
manner, "for I calculate to bring down game a half mile away, if I
happen to see it."
"And provided it will stand still and you can know the exact distance."
"I can tell that by my eye easily enough."
"You can't guess within two hundred yards of it, if your life depended
on it."
"That remains to be seen."
"The first time you try it will prove it. I have seen them shoot with
the telescopes, globe, and peep sights and all the new fangled notions,
and they're good only for fancy shooting. You've got to use that
breech-loader off-hand, just as I do, or it won't be worth a cent to
you."
"I understand that a big black bear has been seen in the woods," said
Herbert, in his loftiest style; "I've come to kill him."
Nick and Sam looked significantly at each other, and Nick said:
"That is what we are after; won't you join us?"
Instead of responding promptly, Herbert said:
"Well, I don't know as I have any objection to letting you go with me,
though you must promise to do as I say."
Without giving this pledge, the two said they would render all the help
they could, and the party moved on down the creek toward the pond.
"Have you a dog?" asked Nick of their new recruit.
"No, what do I want of a dog? He would only be a bother; you ought to
send back that pumpkin of yours."
"We don't expect him to be of much help, except to find the track of the
bear, if he is anywhere in the neighborhood--_there!_ do you hear that?"
At that moment Bowser, who had trotted into the woods ahead, gave
utterance to a hoarse, resounding bay, which sounded as though his voice
had also changed, for it ended in a dismal squeaking howl that made all
laugh.
"He is on the track of something," said Nick in some excitement.
"A rabbit, I am sure," remarked Herbert, with a sneer.
The three started off at a rapid walk, which occasionally broke into a
trot, and following the baying of the hound they turned to the right
before reaching the big pond, and struck into the very heart of the
woods.
Herbert was so much taller and lighter than his companions that he drew
away from them once or twice, but was obliging enough to stop and wait.
Hurrying along in this headlong fashion they soon stopped, all pretty
well out of breath.
Although Herbert had laughed at their tardiness, he was the most
exhausted and the first one to wish to rest.