THE FIGHT WITH THE BUCK
"Look out!"
These were the only words Henry had time to utter and as they left his
lips he leaped to one side as swiftly as possible.
Hardly knowing what Henry meant, Dave and Barringford stood their
ground, looking first one way and then another.
On the instant the big buck came forward. His rush was aimed at Henry,
but missing that youth, he went onward with a wild plunge, directly
between Dave and Barringford.
"A buck!" yelled the frontiersman. "Back out, Dave, an' be quick about
it!"
He himself started on a run, reloading his rifle as he went. Dave wanted
to do as bidden, but he had been so surprised that before he could turn
his heel caught on a rock and down he went flat on his back. His gun
struck on the trigger and went off, the charge tearing over the top of
the cave into the tree branches beyond.
Dave was now helpless and if the truth must be told the fall had more
than half dazed him, for his head came down on a spot that was far from
soft and comfortable. More than this, with an empty gun he could do but
little to defend himself.
The big buck had now come to a halt and turned around. He stood as if
uncertain whether to renew the attack or take to his heels. Then he
gazed at his mate and a strange red light shone in his angry eyes. He
was "blood struck," as old hunters call it, and drawing in a sharp,
hissing breath, he leaped forward once again, straight for Dave, who was
now trying to rise.
[Illustration: He leaped forward once again, straight for Dave.]
Bang! It was now Henry's gun that spoke up, and though the aim was not
of the best--for Henry was excited because Dave was in such dire
peril--the buck was struck in the shoulder and badly wounded. He leaped
back and into the air, and when he came down lifted his right foreleg as
if in intense pain. But he was still full of fight and now he came on
once more, with eyes glittering more dangerously than ever.
Dave had not time to rise, so he did the next best thing, which was to
roll over and over, until a clump of brush stopped his further progress.
Then he slipped into the brush, worming his way to the other side.
The big buck came on and struck the brush a stunning blow that sent the
stalks and twigs flying in all directions. Then the animal backed out
and started for Henry, who had begun to reload.
All this had happened faster than I can relate it, yet it had given
Barringford sufficient time to throw powder and ball into his gun and
fix the priming. Now the old hunter came close to the side of the buck
and blazed away once more, straight for those reddish eyes.
The shot was a telling one, for it tore out one eye completely and
seriously damaged the other. Again the buck halted, and then turned
slowly back and began to stagger off. But he could not see and in a
moment more hit the rocks of the cave with a crash that could be heard
for a considerable distance.
"Good for you, Sam!" cried Henry, who was now reloading. "I reckon we've
got him."
"Don't be too sure," returned the old hunter. "He's got lots of fight in
him yet."
Barringford was right, for again the buck turned and now catching a
glimpse of Barringford through the blood of his wounds made a mighty
leap for the frontiersman. But Barringford was too quick for him and
leaping aside, sprang on the rocks of the cave, satisfied the wounded
buck could not follow him to that spot.
By this time Henry had reloaded, and watching his chance he ran up and
let drive for the buck's neck. This shot proved fatal, and rocking to
and fro for several seconds the magnificent beast at last fell down on
his side, and breathed his last.
"Is he--he dead?" came from Dave, as he pulled himself out of the tangle
of brushwood.
"I think he is," replied his cousin. "But we had better make sure. Bucks
are mighty tricky at times."
Taking out his hunting knife Henry went forward and cut the throat of
the game. Then Barringford leaped from the rocks, and all went to
inspect the buck.
"A regular monarch of the forest!" cried Dave, enthusiastically. "Don't
know as I've ever seen a larger."
"Nor I," added Barringford. "An' he was a fighter, too, wasn't he?"
"We've got more deer meat now than we know what to do with," went on
Dave.
"We don't want the meat of this buck," said Henry. "It would be as tough
as all get-out. We can take the skin and some of the meat from that
deer, and that will be enough; don't you say so, Sam?"
"Right you are, lad."
All were experienced in the work at hand, so it did not take them long
to skin both beasts and then the best of the deer meat was cut out by
Barringford and rolled up in one of the pelts.
After this the march forward was again resumed.
That night they slept in the open, near a generous camp-fire, without
being disturbed, and by sunrise were again on their way. They reached
Cherry Run--a collection of half a dozen cabins--a little after noon,
and here exchanged the skins and some of the meat for other things of
more importance to them.
"There is a Dutch hunter here, who is going to join General Johnson,"
said the pioneer who gave them other things for their skins. "His name
is Hans Schnitzer. Perhaps he'd like to go along with you--if you want
him."
"What, old Dutch Hans, the beaver hunter!" exclaimed Barringford. "Why
certainly I'd like him along. Thar's more fun in him nor in a barrel o'
wasps. Whar is he?"
"He vos right here," came a voice from behind Barringford, and a short,
stout individual stepped forward. His hair was red and his shock of a
beard bore the same color. Above two sunburnt cheeks peeped two small
eyes of blue, ever on a twinkle. He was dressed in the typical suit of
the frontiersman of that day, buckskin leggings, coonskin cap and all.
"So you dinks dare vos more fun py me as mit von parrel of vasps, hey?"
went on the Dutch trapper. "Vell, how apout dot dime ven you vos going
to git dot pird's nest in der hollow dree und you stick your hand py dat
vasps' nest, hey? Vosn't dot funny, hey? Ha! ha! ha! I see dot yet--mit
you dancing arount like you vos a sailor on a pipe-horn, eh?"
"Gosh! don't mention it, Hans," returned Barringford, ruefully. "I kin
feel them pesky wasps yet, fer they war the biggest I ever ran across.
But put it thar, old boy, I'm downright glad to see you--an' after all
the fightin' we've been a-havin', too. I suppose ye broke loose, didn't
ye?"
"Vell I dinks me so," said Hans Schnitzer. "I vos up py dot Mohawk
Valley, und I got me into nine fights by von veek vonce, und fourteen
fights after dot." He removed his cap. "See dot mark? Dot is vere two
Injuns tried to kill me--von mit a tomahawk und der udder mit his
shcalpin' knife--dinking I vos dead. But I vasn't dead. I chumped up und
ve rasselled und rasselled, und I got dem poth down ven, vot you
dinks?--Cheneral Johnson himself come up--und dot vos der last of dose
Injuns putty quick I can tole you."
"Good for the general," said Barringford. Then turning, he introduced
Dave and Henry, and a general conversation ensued. The boys liked Hans
Schnitzer from the start, and having often heard of the comical Dutch
trapper, soon felt at home with him. Schnitzer knew exactly where Sir
William Johnson's camp was located, and promised to take the party there
by the shortest and easiest trail.
The party of four left Cherry Run early the next morning, each in the
best of spirits, Schnitzer gaily humming a song of the Fatherland. The
trail led almost due north, until a small stream was reached. Here, in a
convenient spot, the Dutch trapper had a canoe secreted. This they
entered and followed the stream for a distance of thirty miles, when
they again struck out on foot, this time over the hills leading into the
beautiful Mohawk Valley.
Day after day passed without anything unusual happening. Game was to be
had in plenty, and it often made Henry heart-sick to leave it behind
without taking a shot.
"A regular Paradise!" he said. "When this war is over, how I would like
to come up here and knock around for a few weeks. I reckon I could make
it well worth while."
"You'll find game just as plentiful at father's post on the Kinotah,"
answered Dave. "If father can ever get the post back, you must make a
trip out there with me."
Ever since leaving home Dave had wanted to see a bear, and one day, just
before the sun was setting, his wish was gratified. But the game was too
far away for shooting, and before they could get closer the bear took to
his heels and went crashing out of sight in the brushwood.
"Never mind, lad, we'll go b'ar huntin' another day," said Barringford,
consolingly. "Jest fer the present, we have other ground ter plough, as
the sayin' goes."
At the end of ten days the journey began to grow tiresome to the boys,
and they were glad when Schnitzer announced that another day would more
than likely bring them in sight of General Johnson's camp.
That night they encamped on the bank of the Mohawk, in an ideal spot
covered with brush and some timber. All were thoroughly tired, for the
day's tramp had been a long one, and Dave and Henry were glad when
preparations for supper were at an end and there was nothing more to do
than to eat and go to sleep.
It had been a clear day, but with the coming of night, the sky had
clouded over, showing that a storm was not far off, although neither
Barringford nor Hans the trapper thought it would rain before morning.
"Put ven it does come, I dink me it vos come hardt," said Schnitzer.
"Maype it vos rain for two or fife days, eh?"
"Oh, I hope it doesn't rain as long as that!" cried Dave. "Why, we'll be
drowned out."
The wood was piled on the fire, and a little later all lay down to rest,
and it did not take Henry and Dave long to reach the land of dreams.
They lay on one side of the cheerful blaze while the two men lay on the
other. The wind was blowing the smoke from the fire directly across the
river, so this did not bother them.
Dave had been asleep three hours when he suddenly awoke and gave a
cough. Thinking that he was in danger of being smothered by the smoke he
sat up and gazed at the fire. The wind had shifted slightly, but not
enough to do any harm.
"No use of waking up the others," he thought. "They need every bit of
sleep they can get. That wood is about burnt out anyway, so there won't
be much more smoke."
He was about to lie down again, when the snapping of some brushwood
behind him caught his ear. Turning he caught sight of an Indian
crouching in the bushes gazing at him. Then came a noise from another
direction and four other redmen glided into view. All were armed with
guns, and at once Dave realized that the camp was surrounded.