A WELCOME ALLY.
Fred Linden, like his companion, aimed directly between the eyes of the
strange beast, and, like him, he struck the mark; but both shots only
served to awake the irrestrainable ferocity of the animal, which, with
another rasping howl and parted jaws, bounded toward them. Since both
weapons were discharged, and they had no other firearms, the boys were
almost helpless, and it may be said their enemy was upon them.
"Run!" called out Fred, wheeling about and leaping toward a tree, behind
which he took refuge; but sturdy Terry had no thought of turning away
from such a foe. Throwing one foot back so as to steady himself, he
seized his fine rifle with both hands, near to the muzzle, and held it
so as to use it as a club or shillaleh.
The brute was so close that he had no more than time to gather his
strength, and swing the heavy stock with might and main, when the animal
bounded at him straight from the ground.
There was a "dull thud," as it may be called, and the stock crashed
against the side of the beast's head, knocking him a couple of yards to
the left, and almost at the feet of Fred Linden; but in point of fact
the blow did no harm except to thwart the creature for a second or two.
He was now snarling, and gave utterance to one or two peculiar barking
sounds like a dog or wolf. His eyes were ablaze, and there could be no
doubt that his fury was at white heat. Crouching for an instant, he made
a bound for Terry, before he had time to balance himself to deliver his
second blow with the same power as the first.
Fred Linden could not stand still and see his companion torn to shreds
in that fashion. He leaped from behind the tree, with his gun also
clubbed, and hastened to strike with all his might; but he was too
late.
It was a curious fact, not understood at the moment, that the savage
creature, although he leaped straight at Terry, passed fully two feet
over his head, and that, too, when the lad was standing erect, and
braced to deliver his second blow.
Striking on his belly, several paces beyond, the beast rolled over and
over, clawing, snapping, snarling, and beating the air, with
lightning-like blows. The leaves and dust flew in all directions, and
the foam which he spat from his jaws was flecked with blood.
He continued rolling and struggling until he was a rod distant, and then
suddenly stopped, stone dead.
In the excitement and swirl of the moment both Fred and Terry were
conscious that their guns were not the only ones that were fired. At the
instant the brute was in the act of rising from the ground a second time
for his leap, the sharp report of another rifle was heard. The peril was
so imminent that the lads could give no attention just then to any thing
but the immediate business in hand; but now, seeing their fearful foe
was dead, they knew that it was the third bullet that had done it, and
they glanced around to see who their friend was.
No one was in sight, and they advanced to the carcass, which they were
somewhat timid about touching, even though convinced that it was beyond
the power of doing any more harm. They saw that both of their bullets
had struck the skull, though not at the precise points at which they
aimed. One had passed near the right eye of the nondescript, and must
have inflicted serious injury, but its toughness would have enabled it
to keep up the fight, and to have slain both of the boys before they
could have reloaded and fired a second time.
A little search showed where the fatal wound had been given. Just in
front of the fore leg the lead had entered and gone through the heart.
No animal, so far as known, amounts to any thing after his heart has
been torn in twain, though he may live and move for a time.
"I tell you, Terry, that I don't believe there is another beast in the
country that, after receiving two bullets in the head, like that, could
make such a fight."
"I begs to corrict ye," said the other; "it was three shots, for do ye
not mind that I bored a hole through him when we first made his
acquaintance?"
"So you claimed, but you haven't explained how it was that such a shot
could be made without leaving any wound?"
"It may have healed up since then," suggested the Irish lad, who knew as
well as his companion that the first bullet did not touch the beast.
"I hadn't thought of that," meekly observed Fred; "but there is one
thing certain, that if that last shot hadn't been fired, it would have
been the last of us: where could it have come from?" he asked, looking
around and finding the answer to his question in the sight of Deerfoot
the Shawanoe, who came from behind a clump of bushes on the other side
of the small stream.
Fred uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the graceful
young warrior, who was holding the stock of his gun in his left hand,
with the barrel resting idly in the hollow of his right arm. Fred
jumped across the brook, with hand extended to greet him.
"I'd rather see you than any person in the world," was the truthful
exclamation of the youth: "when you gave me the letter yesterday I
thought what a splendid trip this would be if Terry would go with me,
and behold, he has come! I would have liked to have you too but I didn't
dare say so, for I didn't think it was possible: but ever since we
started I have felt that we only lacked _you_ to make the party
complete. Now, ain't I glad to see you, and how are you, old fellow?"
The lad in his boisterous way wrung the hand of Deerfoot and slapped him
on the shoulder; then laughed, and shook hands again with an enthusiasm
that left no doubt of the cordiality of his welcome.
As for Deerfoot, he showed a gentle dignity that was never absent. His
faint smile lit up his handsome face, and he was pleased with the
pleasure of the others.
"Deerfoot has seen the faces of his brothers not many times, but it
brings sunshine to his heart to meet them again."
Then his countenance was crossed by an expression of gravity like an
eclipse passing over the face of the sun.
"Is my brother ill, that he suffers so much?"
This question referred to Terry Clark, Deerfoot looking over the
shoulder of Fred at the Irish lad behind him. Fred heard a curious
noise, and turned to learn what it meant. His friend had leaned his gun
against the nearest tree, so as to give his limbs free play, and was
flinging his arms aloft, and dancing a jig with a vigor that made it
look as if his legs were shot out, and back and forth, by some high
pressure engine. Now and then he flung his cap aloft, and, as it came
down, ducked his head under and dexterously caught it. His mouth was
puckered up most of the time, while he whistled with might and main,
though the energy of his general movements shut out all resemblance to a
tune. Occasionally he stopped whistling and broke into snatches of song
which, from the same cause, could not be identified.
Fred Linden laughed. He was demonstrative, but not so much so as Terry.
Looking sideways at Deerfoot, he saw his eyes sparkling and the corners
of his mouth twitching. Rarely had he been amused as much as he now was
by the extravagant manifestations of the Irish lad, for whom he had
formed a strong regard.
Deerfoot and Fred having turned their glances toward Terry, the latter
appeared to catch sight of them for the first time. With a whoop he
flung his hat higher than ever in the air, caught it with right side up
on his crown as it came down, and then shouted:
"How are yees, me friends?" and made a dash for them.
In his enthusiasm he forgot the brook running through a small hollow
between them. His feet went down in the depression without any knowledge
on his part, and he sprawled headlong, his cap rolling at the feet of
Deerfoot, who pushed the toe of his moccasin under the edge, and flung
it to him as he rose to his feet.
"It's all the same, and a part of the show," laughed Terry, "as the wife
of the bear-keeper obsarved when the bear ate him up, and it's how are
ye, and how do ye ixpect to be, and what have ye to say for yersilf, and
why are ye so long answerin' me quistion?"
Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his
cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun
leaning against the tree, and said:
"When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of
his arm."
"Yer moral sentiments are corrict," remarked Terry, hurrying back--this
time without falling--to regain his piece. When he once more stood
beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both:
"Are the guns of my brothers loaded?"
Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of
the hunter's life, which is that the first thing to be done after
discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not
remember that he had ever forgotten it before.
"It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be
ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a
beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?"
The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name
for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew,
that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed,
all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals
of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys
from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later,
or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury.