A SURPRISE.
All this time the baying of the hound continued, the sounds showing that
he had circled and was approaching the boys, who were not a little
astonished at the unexpected turn of affairs.
"That's a pretty dog," laughed Herbert; "he is making fools of us all."
"There isn't any need of that so far as _you_ are concerned," retorted
Nick, losing patience with the slurs of their companion. "You had better
wait till you find out what it means before you condemn Bowser."
Herbert made no answer, for the dog was now so close that the interest
of all was centered on his actions.
"My gracious, what a terrible racket he makes!" exclaimed Nick; "there
must be something unusual to excite Bowser like that."
The dog was not heard for several minutes, but the crashing through the
undergrowth sounded nearer and nearer, and, as Sam declared, showed that
Bowser had steam up and was going for something.
Suddenly the bushes parted only a short ways from where the three
wondering lads stood, and, instead of the hound, some kind of a wild
animal came toward them on a dead run.
The group were too amazed to think of the guns they held, and only
stared in mute wonder.
The game did not see them until within a hundred feet, when he whirled
at right angles and plunged away with arrowy speed.
As he did so, he exposed his flank to the young hunters, who could not
have been given a better opportunity to bring him down, for the throwing
forward of the foreleg, opened his most vulnerable part to the bullet.
But none was sent after him; at that instant he was recognized as a fine
buck deer, with branching antlers thrown back so that they seemed to
rest on his spine, while his legs were flung straight in front and then
backward, as he took his long graceful leaps.
The boys had set out to hunt a bear, and were astounded that, when they
dared not hope they were anywhere in his vicinity, a splendid deer
should spring up and dash by them.
Before they could give utterance to their amazement, Bowser came along
with his nose to the ground and baying hoarsely.
Just as he turned to follow the deer, Herbert Watrous raised his
breech-loader to his shoulder and fired point blank at him.
"What did you do that for?" demanded Sam Harper, striding threateningly
toward him with his fist raised.
"Why--why--I declare! I thought it was the bear!" exclaimed the abashed
Herbert; "I never dreamed it was the dog."
Sam was not disposed to believe this story, and he stood irresolute,
strongly inclined to punish the city youth who had fired at his hound;
but Nick compelled his angry friend to laugh by saying:
"You shouldn't be mad, Sam, for Bowser is safe so long as Herbert aims
at him. I don't think he came within twenty feet. If he should hit him
you can make up your mind it is an accident."
Herbert hardly knew how to answer this remark, for he saw that he had
not done a very creditable thing, view it as he might, so he made a
radical turn in the conversation.
"Who would have thought it, boys? We've got not only a bear, but a deer
to hunt, and I say, may the best fellow win!"
And with this manly sentiment on his lips he broke into a rapid run
after the buck and hound, the others following, forgetful of the little
flurry a few minutes before.
It was not in the order of things that the lads should be able to make
their way through the woods and undergrowth with anything like the speed
of the fallow deer or dog. Hunters don't expect to overtake their game
in anything like a fair chase when all are on foot, but resort to
stratagem.
By stationing themselves so as to head off a deer, they secure the one
shot which is all-sufficient. It would be counted an extremely good
piece of fortune could they obtain such a fair target as has already
been given the young hunters; and, having let it pass unimproved, they
scarcely would have expected to be so favored again.
It was natural, therefore, that they should make a pell-mell rush after
the deer and hound, and that they should keep going until, once more,
they were forced to stop from exhaustion.
By this time the baying of Bowser came to them so faintly that it was
plain he was a mile distant at the least, while there could be little
doubt that the buck was much farther off.
"Well!" exclaimed the panting Herbert Watrous, "I can't say I see much
fun in this; it's too much like chasing a railroad train."
"No," added Nick, "I don't see that there is any hope of running down
the deer, who is more used to traveling than we are."
"Maybe he'll come round in a circle again," said Sam, "and we may have
another chance to see him sail by, while not one of us raises his gun."
"I suppose we ought to understand something more about the habits of
the deer, so that we would know what course he would be likely to take.
We could then get there ahead of him and fire as soon as he gave us a
chance."
"Well," added Sam, with a sigh, "he seems to have taken the route we
were going to follow to hunt the bear, so we may as well tramp along. We
may get a glimpse of a buffalo or elephant next."
The baying of the hound had ceased, and, though the boys often stopped
and listened, they heard nothing more of it.
"I guess he has caught the deer," said Herbert, who showed a desire to
speak well of Bowser since he had failed to shoot him, "and is waiting
for us."
But Sam shook his head; he knew the canine too well to believe him
capable of such an exploit as that.
"I don't think he ever ran down anything yet, unless it was a chicken or
cat--hallo!"
At that moment the subject of their conversation appeared on the scene,
approaching as quietly as though the boys were sheep that he wished to
surprise.
He slouched along with a lazy, tired gait, his tongue out, and dripping
with perspiration, while he panted as though he had been on the severest
chase of his life, which most likely was the fact.
He lay down at the feet of Sam Harper, and, stretching out his paws,
rested his head between them as much as to say, "Gentlemen, I have had
enough of this sport, and resign; you will now carry it on without my
assistance."
"He is tired out, and I don't wonder," said Sam, stooping over and
patting the head of the hound; "he ain't used to deer hunting, and don't
know much more about it than do we."
"Then he don't know anything," was the truthful observation of Nick
Ribsam.
"It's my opinion that it's best to give up hunting that particular deer
until we learn a little more about the right way to do it."