Bart Keene's Hunting Days Part 10

"Well, suppose we go down to my house after school, and look over our camping stuff," suggested Bart, for the tents, stoves and other paraphernalia was kept in his barn. The boys had gone camping several times before, both winter and summer, and had a very complete outfit, as is known to those who have perused the other volumes of this series.

Bart's idea met with favor and, when lessons for the day were over, the four chums were overhauling cots, inspecting the big tent and seeing if the portable stove was in good condition. It was a dark, lowering afternoon, and, since morning, the promise of more snow had been added to by several flurries of the white flakes.

"Well, everything seems to be in good shape," observed Bart at length.

"We've got about two more weeks of school, and then we'll cut it, and hike for the woods. We must look up a good place, and you and Stumpy had better find out for sure if you can go, Ned."

"We will," they promised.

"All right, then come on out, and let's try a few shots," went on Bart.

"I've got some new cartridges, with smokeless powder, and I want to see how they work."

A little later the four chums were ready to take turns with two rifles Bart owned. The target was set up in the deserted orchard, and the fun began.

Bart was easily the best shot of the four, and this was so soon demonstrated that he consented to take his aim in difficult positions, such as firing with his back to the target, using a mirror to sight with. He did other "stunts" which, I have no doubt, some of my readers have seen done in "Wild West" shows, or on the stage.

"There's no use talking, Bart," observed Ned, "you can put it all over us when it comes to handling a rifle."

"Well, I've had more practice," said Bart modestly. "You fellows will do as good when you've had more experience."

"I'm afraid not," spoke Fenn, with a sigh. "Here, see if I can hit that tin can on the fence post."

He raised the weapon, sighted it carefully, and pulled the trigger. There was no smoke, for the powder was of the self-consuming type, but a bright sliver of flame shot from the muzzle of the gun, plainly visible in the fast-gathering darkness. The can was not touched, but, an instant after Fenn fired, some one beyond the fence set up a great shouting.

"Great Caesar, Stumpy, you've shot some one!" gasped Bart.

Poor Fenn turned a sickly color, and the rifle fell from his nerveless hands. The shouts continued, and there was a commotion in the bushes.

A little later Alice Keene, with her hands full of bandages, and carrying a small medicine chest, rushed from the house and past the group of terror-stricken lads toward the fence, whence the yells continued to come.

"Oh!" cried the girl. "I was afraid some one would get hurt when you boys used those horrid guns! You had better telephone for a doctor, Bart, while I go see if I can stop the bleeding! Who is hurt?"

"We--we don't know," faltered Fenn. "I was shooting at a can, but I missed it. I didn't know anybody was in the bushes."

Bart hurried into the house to telephone for a physician, while Alice in the role of a red-cross nurse, hurried on toward the fence. The shouts were growing fainter now. The boys, with white faces, followed her.

CHAPTER VIII

AN ODD LETTER

"Suppose he is dead?" faltered Fenn, as he stumbled along. "Will--will I be arrested."

"Don't worry until you see who it is, and how badly he is hurt," advised Frank. They were soon at the fence. Ned and Frank parted the bushes that grew higher than the topmost rail, and plunged on through. Fenn followed, but Alice was going farther up, where she knew there was a gate.

The sight that met the eyes of the boys was most rea.s.suring. Standing up on his big wagon was Jed Sneed, calmly pitching off cord wood into a pile. The fuel was evidently for Bart's house.

"Were you--are you--that is--you aren't dead; are you?" gasped Fenn.

"Is--is anybody?"

"Not that I know of," answered Jed, as he straightened up. "But I come pretty nigh bein'. As nigh as I want to. I just heard a bullet sing over my head, as I was stooping down to get hold of a stick. Who was shooting, anyhow?"

"I--I was," faltered Stumpy. "I missed the tin can I aimed at. Did I come very close to you?"

"I didn't take time to measure the distance," announced Jed dryly, "but it was close enough."

"We heard you yell," said Frank, "and we thought some one was killed. We didn't know it was you."

"I was hollering at the horses, partly," explained the man. "The pesky critters won't stand still when they hear shootin'. So it was you fellows; eh? Well, I ought to have knowed better than to come out with this load of wood to-day. Jest as I was startin' a black cat run right across the road in front of the horses, and that's one of the very worst kind of bad signs. I should have turned back, but Mr. Keene wanted this wood to-day, so I kept on. Then, as if one warnin' wasn't enough, I had another. Jest as I was turnin' in this back way, thinkin' it would be a little shorter, three crows flew over my head, goin' South. They must have stayed up pretty late, but there's no worse sign than three crows, unless it's to meet a snake with his tail toward you. But, as Mr. Keene wanted the wood, I come on, and look what was the result--I was nearly killed."

"Oh, I guess the bullet didn't come so near you as you thought,"

suggested Ned, partly for Fenn's benefit. "Fenn usually fires high, and he missed the can clean. Then, you're down in a sort of hollow here, and I guess it was well over your head."

"I hope so," remarked Jed. "A miss is as good as a mile, I guess. Still, it was partly my own fault, for not payin' attention to them signs. You can make up your minds I won't tempt fate that way again. I'll turn back next time when a black cat crosses in front of me. And then, too, I ought to have give you chaps warnin'. I heard you shootin' as I drove up, and then, when it stopped, I s'posed you was done. Then when that one shot came, and whizzed over my head, I thought it was all up with me. I hollered some, to let you know I was here, and to quiet the team.

Then I went on tossin' off the wood."

Fenn breathed easier. Some color was beginning to come back into his cheeks. A moment later Alice came hurrying along, having found the gate.

"Is he badly hurt?" she asked. "Have they got him in the wagon? Perhaps you'd better drive right to the hospital Mr. Sneed," for she knew the teamster, who did odd jobs around town.

"Wa'al, I don't mind drivin' to the hospital for ye," announced Jed with a grin, "but there ain't no need for it."

"Don't tell me he's--" but Alice paused, not willing to utter the fatal word. Several rolls of bandages fell from her hands.

"Oh, I'm all right," went on Jed. "I'll live to be an old man if I wait to be shot, I guess. Whoa, there, ponies," this last to his team.

"Then isn't any one hurt?" asked Alice, and though she was undoubtedly glad of it, there was a distinct note of disappointment in her voice.

"No one," explained Ned, as he told how it had happened. Jed took part of the blame, for not announcing his presence, but, nevertheless, Fenn was a bit shaky for some time after the incident, and Ned and the others were nervous.

"The doctor will be right over!" suddenly cried Bart, bursting through the bushes. "Who is it, and is he badly hurt?" Then he had to be told how it was, and he hurried back into the house to countermand the order for the physician. Alice gathered up her bandages, and with her box of remedies retraced her steps. She had missed a chance to practice for her chosen profession, but she was glad of it.

A more careful investigation of how Fenn had stood when he shot, and a calculation of the angle at which he held the rifle, showed that the bullet must have gone well over Jed's head, so it was not so bad as at first thought.

"But it was mostly my own fault," concluded the odd man, as he drove away. "Never again will I keep on when I see a black cat--" He stopped suddenly, checked his team, and got out of the empty wagon.

"What's the matter now?" asked Frank.

"There's a horseshoe in the field there, and it's turned the wrong way for luck," explained Jed, as he picked it up. "I was drivin' right toward it--must have come off one of my horses when I was comin' around to get a good place to toss off the wood."

"Anyway it had the curved, or open side, toward me, and if you go toward a horseshoe that way it's a sure sign that you'll have no luck in a year. A mighty sure sign, too."

"What are you going to do?" asked Bart, as he saw Jed put the shoe back on the ground again.

"Oh, I just turned it around again. Now I can drive toward it right, and I'll have good luck--you see," which he proceeded to do, and, after his wagon had pa.s.sed the shoe, he got out again, picked it up, and then went on, well satisfied with himself.

As the days went on the weather grew colder. There were frequent snow storms, and the snow did not melt. The Christmas holidays were approaching, and the boys were preparing for camp life, each lad having secured permission to take some time out of school.