Two Boys in Wyoming Part 12

"Fact of it is," remarked Jack, expressing that which had been clear to both from the first, "there was no need of our jumping it at all. But we are here, and must make the best of it. It's time we found some game."

And Jack looked sharply around, as if he expected to see a fat deer or big horn step forward and sacrifice himself for their good.

But they were more fortunate than they were warranted in expecting.

While surveying the rocks and heights which seemed to wall them in, Fred exclaimed:

"There's our game!"

He pointed to a cliff fully two hundred yards distant, and of half that height. On this projecting ledge stood a n.o.ble buck, with antlers and head raised, while he seemed to be gazing over the wild expanse of country below him. They knew he was a fine animal, though the distance made him appear diminutive.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "On the projecting ledge stood a n.o.ble buck."]

"I wonder if he sees us?" said Jack in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.

"If he does, he knows we are too far off to harm him."

The next instant the boys had unslung their gla.s.ses and leveled them at the fellow, who formed a striking picture, as he stood out in bold relief, with his spreading antlers, his fine head, and his brown, sinewy limbs. The next remark by Jack may not have been romantic, but it was characteristic:

"What a fine meal he will make for us!"

"Provided we can secure him. We must get a good deal nearer."

"Our rifles will carry a bullet that far."

"No doubt; but if we hit him he would be only slightly wounded and would make off. We must go closer."

This necessity was self-evident, but the task was certain to be a difficult one. As they approached the animal they were likely to expose themselves to his keen gaze, when he would disappear on the instant.

"Remember what Hank said. There is twice the chance for one that there is for two. I'll stay here, Fred, while you go on. If I see him move I'll try it, and you must do the same. Between us, we may bring him down."

The plan was acted upon. It was agreed that Fred should steal as near to the buck as possible, in the hope of securing him, while Jack should hold himself in readiness to make a shot, with precious little prospect of success.

If the game would maintain his position it looked as if there was a good prospect of the younger lad getting within shooting distance, for the way was so rugged, and offered so many opportunities for screening his approach, that he did not believe he would be detected if he used proper care. Meanwhile Jack took position behind the nearest boulder, where he could keep an eye on the animal and it was impossible for the latter to see him.

Fred was lost to sight almost immediately. He grew so anxious as the interval decreased that he trembled, and it was hard to fight off an attack of what is called "buck fever," and which is fatal to the best hunter; but by and by his nerves settled, and he became as cool and self-possessed as Hank Hazletine himself would have been under the circ.u.mstances.

It seemed improbable that the buck would wait where he was, even if not alarmed, for the time necessary to afford a good shot for his enemy. It was some whim that had led him out upon the top of the towering bluff, where he was in view of the young hunters. It is not to be supposed that his kind appreciate such a thing as beauty in a landscape or scene spread before them, and yet the action of the buck almost indicated something of that nature; for he stood motionless, minute after minute, as if absorbed, and suggesting a statue carved from the rock itself.

Foot by foot Fred Greenwood stole forward, crouching behind boulders, creeping beside immense rocks which shut him from the gaze of the watchful animal, until with a rapidly beating heart he whispered:

"I'm near enough to try a shot."

He was making ready, when he observed a well-screened point a few rods in advance, which impressed him as the right place. Once there, he could ask no better opportunity to test his skill. Was it safe to wait a minute or two longer? Yes, he would make the attempt.

With infinite care, and holding his nerves in superb control, he worked his way to the spot without alarming the buck.

CHAPTER VIII.

LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.

Crouching behind the friendly boulder, Fred Greenwood rested the barrel of his Winchester upon it and took careful aim at the buck, which seemed scarcely to have moved from the moment he was seen by the youths. That he maintained his pose thus long was certainly remarkable, and the fact was due to a cause suspected by neither of the boys.

That the antelope has the b.u.mp of curiosity developed to a most amazing degree is well known. It is this peculiarity which has proved fatal to the animals in numberless instances. The curiosity of the _cervus_ species, while much less, sometimes manifests itself in an extraordinary fas.h.i.+on. Fred Greenwood managed his approach with so much skill that he was not noticed; but his comrade, further away, was seen by the vigilant animal, when Jack, becoming impatient over the delay, began the attempt to follow him. The sight of the young hunter startled the buck. He was on the point of whirling about and making off, but waited to learn something more definite. The caution of Jack rendered this difficult, and it was because of the animal's hesitation that Fred succeeded in reaching the spot from which to try a shot.

The lad sighted at the front of the game and his finger was pressing the trigger, when, perhaps because of a sudden sight of Jack, the buck turned about to flee. It was at this juncture that Fred fired.

The result was better than he expected. It is almost impossible to kill a deer instantly, instances being known of one running a number of rods with a bullet through his heart; but in this instance the buck, gathering his forelegs under him, as if to leap a high obstruction, bounded straight up in air and dropped back so close to the edge of the cliff that he toppled over and came tumbling downward like a log of wood.

The point where he fell was some distance away and out of sight of the young hunter, who, with a delighted exclamation, rose to his feet and began scrambling toward his prize. But for his excitement Fred would have noted a singular thing. When the report of his rifle rang out in the stillness, the echo from the face of the cliff sounded as sharp and loud as the crack of his own weapon. The explanation of this speedily became manifest.

Although the way was rough, the distance was so short that it took Fred only a brief time to reach the inanimate body of the buck.

"Hank couldn't have beaten that shot himself! I must have driven the bullet through his heart, which I shouldn't have done if he hadn't started to flee at the instant I pulled trigger----"

At that moment an Indian, rifle in hand, stepped into view from among the rocks, and with a grin on his face came toward the youth. Fred was not dreaming of anything of the kind, and looked at the red man in astonishment.

"Eh! howdy, brother? That my buck," said the Indian, with his painted face still bisected by a tremendous smile.

The lad flared up on the instant.

"How do you make that out? I just shot him."

"No; me shoot him--he mine."

Fred's gorge continued to rise.

"You are not speaking the truth. I fired at him a few minutes ago and saw him spring in air and fall over the cliff."

"Where you hit him?"

Ready to prove the truth of his own words, the youth stooped over the carca.s.s, which was lying on its left side. A crimson orifice was seen just back of the foreleg, which showed where the tiny messenger of death had entered.

"That's where I struck him! What have you to say to _that_?"

"I shoot at the same time as brother. That where my bullet go in. Dere where it come out."

Reflection convinced Fred of the unpleasant fact that this Indian was speaking the truth. The relative position of the lad and the dead buck had been such that it was impossible for his bullet to take the course of the one that had slain the animal. The decisive shot, therefore, was not his.

"But I know mine struck him somewhere," was Fred's desperate exclamation; "could it have taken the same course as yours?"

The tantalizing smile came back to the face of the red man, who shook his head.

"My brother's bullet strike dere--hurt antler bad."

The Indian thrust the toe of his moccasin against the buck's antlers. It was plain that one of the p.r.o.ngs had been chipped off, as if by the impact of a glancing bullet. Fred could no longer deny the mortifying fact that his shot had no more to do with the death of the animal than if it had been a pebble tossed up the cliff by hand.