Bart Keene's Hunting Days Part 27

"In the cook tent, high up on a box. Some of you fellows must have taken it, for snow fell in the night, and there wasn't a track going into the tent when I came out here. You fellows took it before you came in to bed. Own up, now!"

"I didn't!" declared Bart, and the others a.s.serted their innocence.

"Well, somebody has it!" insisted Stumpy, earnestly. "The meat pie is gone, and it was a dandy, too!"

His distress was evident. The other lads, likewise, felt the loss of their chief breakfast dish. Stumpy looked at them with an eye of suspicion, but they gazed frankly back at him.

"That mysterious man----" began Frank.

"Wait a minute," suggested Bart, who had finished dressing. "I'll take a look."

He went carefully out to the cook tent, and made several observations.

Then he stooped down and carefully brushed off the light layer of snow that had fallen during the night. When the undercrust was exposed he uttered an exclamation.

"There's the tracks of the thief who stole the meat pie, Stumpy," he said, pointing to some marks in the snow.

"Who was it?" asked Ned.

"A fox," answered Bart. "He sneaked into the tent after we had gone to bed, and took the pie off the top of the box where Fenn had set it. Then he carried it off, and the snow obligingly came and covered up his tracks. I guess if we look far enough we can find the basin that held the pie, where the fox dropped it."

They made a circle about the camp, and soon Fenn uttered a cry of triumph.

"Here's the pan!" he called. "It's empty. No meat pie for breakfast this morning," he added regretfully.

"I wish we could shoot that fox!" exclaimed Ned vindictively. "As it is you'll have to give us pancakes, Fenn."

There was no help for it. The pie dish had been licked clean, though how the fox had managed to carry it from the tent was something of a mystery. However, Fenn soon stirred up a mess of cakes from self-raising flour, and a hot breakfast was partaken of, while hunting plans for that day were discussed.

"I'm going to look for the thieving fox," declared Fenn. "The idea of that dandy pie going to waste!"

"No foxes," insisted Bart. "Nothing less than bear to-day, fellows. We don't want to bother with small game," and they started out.

But the bears seemed to have warning of the approach of the young Nimrods, for none was in evidence, though there were tracks in the snow, which Bart, enthusiastic sportsman that he was, followed hopefully for some distance, until they disappeared down in a deep gulch, where even he did not think it wise to follow.

"Let's separate a bit," suggested Frank, after another mile or two had been covered. "I think there are too many of us here. Ned and I will go off together, and you and Stumpy do the same, Bart."

"All right," agreed the stout lad, and Bart nodded a.s.sent.

"Come on over this way, Stumpy," called Bart to his partner. "We'll get all the bears, and leave the rabbits for those fellows."

It was about an hour after this that Bart, who had gone on a little in advance of Fenn, whose wind was not of the best, heard a grunt of surprise from his stout comrade. Mingled with it was an expression of fear. The lads had just pa.s.sed through a little clearing, and Fenn had stopped to look back. In an instant Bart saw what Fenn was gazing at.

It was a n.o.ble buck, with wide, branching antlers, and he stood on the edge of the little glade, glaring, as if in defiance, at those who had invaded his home. As Bart looked he saw Fenn raise his rifle.

"Don't! Don't shoot, Stumpy!" called Bart. "It's against the law.

There's tracking snow!"

But it was too late. The stout lad's rifle cracked, and by the start the buck gave Bart knew his chum had wounded the animal.

The next instant, after a savage shake of his big head, with the spreading horns, and a stamping of his sharp hoofs, the angry animal sprang forward, straight at Fenn. The lad was excited, and was trying to pump another cartridge into the chamber, but the mechanism of his gun had jammed.

"Jump, Fenn! Jump to one side!" shouted Bart, bringing his rifle around.

There was no time to think of the game laws. His chum was in danger, and he would be justified in shooting.

But before he could fire the buck was upon poor Fenn. With one sweep of his sharp horns the beast swept the lad aside, knocking him down. Then, with lowered head, the animal tried to gore the prostrate lad.

Fenn saw his one chance for safety, and took it. He scrambled up, grabbed the horns, and held on like grim death. The buck reared, swung around and tried to strike Fenn with the knife-like hoofs. Then a curious thing happened. One of the hoofs went through Fenn's loose belt, and this so tangled up animal and boy that they both went down in the snow, and rolled over.

"Fenn will be killed," gasped Bart, and his heart almost stopped beating. But the buck struggled to his feet again, and succeeded in getting his leg free from the belt. Fenn had again grabbed hold of the horns of the infuriated animal, which, at that instant swung around, presenting a good shot to Bart. Should he fire? Could he hit the buck and not injure his chum? It was ticklish work, but the need was great.

Bart decided in an instant, took quick aim and fired.

CHAPTER XXV

NED'S RABBIT TRAP

Bart was using a new kind of powder, and there was no need to wait for the cloud of smoke to clear away to see the result of his shot. He beheld, an instant after the report of his rifle, the big buck swaying unsteadily. The lad was about to fire again, but there was no need, for the animal slowly sank to the snow-covered earth, and fell with a thud.

"Jump back, Stumpy! Jump back!" yelled Bart, fearing that the heavy animal would crash on top of Fenn. But, though the stout lad was incapable of leaping back, he managed to push himself out of danger, from the hold he had on the horns. Then he rolled over the snow, now red from the blood of the buck.

Bart rushed up, with rifle ready for another shot, but there was no need. His one bullet had struck a vital spot, and the big animal was breathing his last. Then Bart turned his attention to his chum.

Fenn was lying curiously white and still upon the snow, and, as Bart looked, he saw a stream of blood coming from under where the lad was stretched out.

"Fenn! Stumpy! Are you hurt?" he cried, laying down his gun, and endeavoring to raise Fenn's head. As he did so he saw that the lad's wound was in his arm, where the sharp p.r.o.ngs of the deer had cut a gash.

It was bleeding freely, and Bart knew this must be stopped.

Not in vain had he listened to his sister's almost constant talks about first aid to the injured. Bart recollected some of Alice's instructions, and, a moment later he was binding up the cut with some bandages which he had stuck in his pocket with the idea of using to clean his gun, but which now served a more useful purpose.

Bart was glad to see that, as he wound the linen rags around Fenn's arm, the flow of blood ceased. Then, rubbing the unconscious lad's face with snow, Bart noted a wave of returning color, and, a moment later, Fenn opened his eyes.

"Is anybody hurt?" he asked, slowly.

"You're the only one--except the buck," answered Bart, with a sigh of relief, "and you're not so badly off, I guess, that is, unless you're wounded some other place besides the arm."

"No, I think that's all. But what happened to the buck?" and Fenn looked around.

"There he is," replied Bart, pointing to the dead animal. "You certainly had nerve to tackle him by the horns, Stumpy."

"No, I didn't," was the simple answer. "It was all I could do. It was either that or let him gouge me, and I didn't want to do that. Did you shoot him?"

"Yes, and it was close work, too, for your head was almost in the way."

"But you did it!" exclaimed Fenn, enthusiastically. "You saved my life, Bart, and--" but Fenn could say no more. The nervous shock was too much for him, and he put out his hand and silently clasped that of his friend.