CHAPTER IX. "GOOD SHOT! GREAT LITTLE GUN!"
Strangely enough, Thad discovered at the same time that his nerves hadsuddenly become as rigid as though he were simply about to fire at amark, to try the new rifle belonging to Step Hen.
This is one of the tests of a born hunter. He may feel nervous up to thecritical moment, when he stiffens, and seems to be made of steel.
Thad believed that he was in condition to do himself justice when theproper time came to shoot. The distance was short, and although he wouldhave preferred having a different kind of light than merely seeing ablack object lined up against the sky, still he was familiar with guns,and could, if necessary, aim merely through instinct.
The floundering grew in volume. Evidently the bull was having somedifficulty in pushing upward through the bushes that covered the otherside of the little ridge, the existence of which Sebattis must have knownbefore, or he would never have headed this way so confidently.
But the animal was certainly coming on, for the sounds grew louder allthe while. And whenever he seemed to stop, from any cause, there wasalways that same tempting, wheedling sound to draw him on again.
It was a minute that the scout would never forget, since this was reallyhis first attempt to bring down game of any great size.
Again there came a silence. Was the bull hesitating again? SomehowSebattis had toned down his notes to a low murmur; but it was intended tobe very enticing to the stranger.
And all at once Thad felt the hand of the guide touch his arm. He guessedthat this must be meant as a signal to draw his attention to the factthat there was at last something doing above; and at the same instant theboy detected a moving object come into view over the top of the baldridge.
Higher it rose until he no longer had any doubt that he was looking atthe towering horns of a giant moose bull.
And in another moment the whole bulk of the beast was outlined againstthe starry heavens.
The critical time was at hand.
Sebattis no longer played upon his birch bark horn. He had dropped it tothe ground, and doubtless gripped his old rifle so as to be ready to pourin a second shot, should his boy-companion fail to send his lead where itwould strike a death blow. For Sebattis remembered that after all Thadwas a lad who had never before looked upon one of these greatest of allAmerican game animals on his native heath and that perhaps the sightmight rattle him.
"Shoot!"
It was only the faintest of whispers, but Thad caught it, for the mouthof the Indian guide was just a short distance away from his ear.
He had already lowered his cheek to the stock of the little rifle, andhis finger was touching the trigger. Almost through instinct, such ascomes to one who has the blood of a hunter flowing through his veins, theboy judged where he must aim, for such a thing as actually seeing theshoulder of the gloomy figure was just then impossible.
The sight of that grand animal standing there with upraised head,listening eagerly for the faintest indication of the presence of thosewhose calls had tempted him to make this pilgrimage, was one Thad wouldnever be able to wholly get out of his mind.
Then he pressed the trigger of his rifle, and its quick response to theinvitation came as a pleasure to his ears. Hardly had he fired than Thadwas working the mechanism that was intended to throw out the empty shell,and send another fresh cartridge into the firing chamber; and it spokewell for his ability to do the right thing when he accomplished all thiswithout the slightest hitch; so that in two seconds he was ready to sendin a second shot if needed.
Sebattis had not fired.
This was really the first thing that flashed into Thad's mind, and gavehim sudden hope. The second was that even though he himself had wanted toshoot again, there was no chance, for the moose had disappeared.
He expected to hear that crashing of the bushes again, telling how thewounded animal, for he knew he must have hit the moose, was rushing awayas fast as he had come. But he failed to catch it.
On the contrary, different sounds came to his ear, which he could notunderstand for the moment. It even seemed to him that the brave moosemight have really met with an enemy, and was fighting gallantly againstheavy odds.
Well, that was just what must be happening; and the foe was one thatevery moose must sooner or later find himself grappling with; for it wasthe grim reaper, death.
Sebattis, with that wonderful instinct of his, had known instantly fromcertain actions of the moose upon being struck, that the animal hadreceived his death wound. He understood that there was really no need ofhis sending in a second shot; and besides, he preferred that the youngNimrod should have the full credit of slaying the big bull.
Sebattis, for all he was an Indian, had all the generosity that marks thetrue sportsman; and later on, in thinking it over, Thad realized how muchhe was indebted to the guide for refraining from firing after he had doneso.
"You get um, Tad!" exclaimed the Indian, with a touch of pride in histone.
"Oh! do you really think I did, Sebattis?" cried the delighted younghunter, now trembling like an aspen leaf, for the crisis was all past.
"Come with me; see!" was the reply.
Eagerly did Thad climb that little slope. It was now all as silent asdeath up yonder. He hoped after all, Sebattis might not be mistaken, andthat the wily old moose, although severely hurt, had managed to slipaway. They would surely never be able to track him by the drops of bloodhe shed.
But now they were on top of the rise. Thad had brought along with him thelittle electric torch which he had purchased before starting on this tripto Maine. All he had to do was to grip it in his left hand, press abutton, and instantly a brilliant ray of light shot out of the end. Withthis he could see objects as much as sixty or eighty feet away, andplainly at half that distance.
So now he flashed this light ahead. At first he failed to discoveranything on the ground, and his heart seemed to rise in his throat withcruel disappointment at the thought that after all he had missed.
"Tad, see!"
It was the Indian who was plucking at his sleeve, and directing hisattention over to the left. And as the boy quickly turned the light inthat direction he was thrilled to discover the moose lying there on hisside, and not moving in the slightest degree.
"Oh! I did get him, didn't I, Sebattis?" he cried, delighted beyondmeasure at his good fortune; for it is not every hunter who can say hebrought down the first big game at which he has fired.
The guide was bending over the fallen monarch of the Maine woods. Hisfirst inclination was to see where the fatal bullet had struck.
"Mighty good shot. Great little gun."
He looked at Step Hen's up-to-date thirty-thirty calibre rifle as thoughafter this he must be a fool to go packing his own heavy tool throughwoods, and over carries, when one-half the weight would do better work.
And he even thrust his finger into the ragged hole just back of the foreleg of the dead animal, as though wondering how so small a bullet couldever make such a big opening. Sebattis had something to learn concerningthe results springing from the use of a soft-nosed bullet, that flattensout when striking any object, even the side of an animal.
"We ought to let the boys know right away," said Thad, thinking of howhis chums must be almost consumed with anxiety to be told the result ofthat lone shot; which Step Hen must guess came from his new rifle, andnot the larger one carried by the Indian guide.
"Tad call um here. Me make little fire, so see how climb hill," saidSebattis.
Only too gladly did Thad send out a whoop that easily reached thelistening ears of those comrades in camp. An answering hail came back.
"Did you get him, Thad?"
"Come on over here, all of you," was all Thad would say in return.
Immediately they heard a great threshing, as the entire crowd started ona run in the direction of the call. Doubtless poor Bumpus would havefared badly, and been left far in the lurch, only for the kindness ofJim, who gave
him a helping hand over all obstacles.
Meanwhile the Indian had hastened to scrape together a few handfuls ofdead stuff, which he seemed to know just where to look for; to this heapplied a match and as it sprang into a tiny flame, he proceeded to addsuch fuel as he could most readily pick up.
In less than a minute he had a real fire going, that began to dispel theshadows of night around the vicinity of the spot where the giant mooselay. As it burned on the top of the bald ridge, the fire would serve as abeacon to show the others just how to reach the place.
Now they were climbing the low elevation. Thad could hear some of thempuffing at a great rate. Of course Giraffe was the first to arrive, withEli close on his heels; then Allan, and the others trailing after in anyold style.
Each one of them pushed immediately to where the prize lay; and loud werethe exclamations of astonishment when they realized just what a monsterit was that Thad had brought down with that one fortunate shot.
Step Hen in particular was almost crazy with joy.
"Now make fun of my pea-shooter, will you, Giraffe?" he cried, dancingaround, and hugging his fine little rifle with all the delight a boymight show in the possession of his first long trousers. "Just look atwhat it did, would you? Why, anybody's just silly to lug an old heavyblunderbuss like yours around, when he c'n own such a bully little thingat this. Oh! didn't she just do everything to that old bull, though? Ifhe'd known about my gun he'd have lit out in the other direction,licketty-split. After this, why should I be afraid to stand up in frontof any sort of big game that walks on four feet or hoofs? You hear me,Giraffe?"
Thad did not disturb the wild dream of the tenderfoot chum; though hewondered whether Step Hen could have hit Bumpus' old red barn, if, lyingthere in wait, he had suddenly seen the monster rise into view above thecrown of the low ridge, and felt Sebattis nudge him in the ribs, as awarning that the time had come to shoot.
But it was a great moment for all the scouts, as they stood over theprize that had fallen to the gun of their patrol leader, Thad Brewster.
The Boy Scouts on the Trail; or, Scouting through the Big Game Country Page 9