CHAPTER IX.

“GOOD SHOT! GREAT LITTLE GUN!”

Strangely enough, Thad discovered at the same time that his nerves had suddenly become as rigid as though he were simply about to fire at a mark, 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 the critical moment, when he stiffens, and seems to be made of steel.

Thad believed that he was in condition to do himself justice when the proper time came to shoot. The distance was short, and although he would have preferred having a different kind of light than merely seeing a black 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 some difficulty in pushing upward through the bushes that covered the other side of the little ridge, the existence of which Sebattis must have known before, or he would never have headed this way so confidently.

But the animal was certainly coming on, for the sounds grew louder all the while. And whenever he seemed to stop, from any cause, there was always that same tempting, wheedling sound to draw him on again.

It was a minute that the scout would never forget, since this was really his first attempt to bring down game of any great size.

Again there came a silence. Was the bull hesitating again? Somehow Sebattis had toned down his notes to a low murmur; but it was intended to be very enticing to the stranger.

And all at once Thad felt the hand of the guide touch his arm. He guessed that this must be meant as a signal to draw his attention to the fact that there was at last something doing above; and at the same instant the boy detected a moving object come into view over the top of the bald ridge.

Higher it rose until he no longer had any doubt that he was looking at the towering horns of a giant moose bull.

And in another moment the whole bulk of the beast was outlined against the starry heavens.

The critical time was at hand.

Sebattis no longer played upon his birch bark horn. He had dropped it to the ground, and doubtless gripped his old rifle so as to be ready to pour in a second shot, should his boy-companion fail to send his lead where it would strike a death blow. For Sebattis remembered that after all Thad was a lad who had never before looked upon one of these greatest of all American game animals on his native heath and that perhaps the sight might rattle him.

“Shoot!”

It was only the faintest of whispers, but Thad caught it, for the mouth of 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, and his finger was touching the trigger. Almost through instinct, such as comes to one who has the blood of a hunter flowing through his veins, the boy judged where he must aim, for such a thing as actually seeing the shoulder 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 those whose calls had tempted him to make this pilgrimage, was one Thad would never be able to wholly get out of his mind.

Then he pressed the trigger of his rifle, and its quick response to the invitation came as a pleasure to his ears. Hardly had he fired than Thad was working the mechanism that was intended to throw out the empty shell, and send another fresh cartridge into the firing chamber; and it spoke well for his ability to do the right thing when he accomplished all this without the slightest hitch; so that in two seconds he was ready to send in a second shot if needed.

Sebattis had not fired.

This was really the first thing that flashed into Thad’s mind, and gave him sudden hope. The second was that even though he himself had wanted to shoot again, there was no chance, for the moose had disappeared.

He expected to hear that crashing of the bushes again, telling how the wounded animal, for he knew he must have hit the moose, was rushing away as fast as he had come. But he failed to catch it.

On the contrary, different sounds came to his ear, which he could not understand for the moment. It even seemed to him that the brave moose might have really met with an enemy, and was fighting gallantly against heavy odds.

Well, that was just what must be happening; and the foe was one that every moose must sooner or later find himself grappling with; for it was the grim reaper, death.

Sebattis, with that wonderful instinct of his, had known instantly from certain actions of the moose upon being struck, that the animal had received his death wound. He understood that there was really no need of his sending in a second shot; and besides, he preferred that the young Nimrod should have the full credit of slaying the big bull.

Sebattis, for all he was an Indian, had all the generosity that marks the true sportsman; and later on, in thinking it over, Thad realized how much he was indebted to the guide for refraining from firing after he had done so.

“You get um, Tad!” exclaimed the Indian, with a touch of pride in his tone.

“Oh! do you really think I did, Sebattis?” cried the delighted young hunter, 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 as death up yonder. He hoped after all, Sebattis might not be mistaken, and that the wily old moose, although severely hurt, had managed to slip away. They would surely never be able to track him by the drops of blood he shed.

But now they were on top of the rise. Thad had brought along with him the little electric torch which he had purchased before starting on this trip to Maine. All he had to do was to grip it in his left hand, press a button, and instantly a brilliant ray of light shot out of the end. With this he could see objects as much as sixty or eighty feet away, and plainly at half that distance.

So now he flashed this light ahead. At first he failed to discover anything on the ground, and his heart seemed to rise in his throat with cruel disappointment at the thought that after all he had missed.

“Tad, see!”

It was the Indian who was plucking at his sleeve, and directing his attention over to the left. And as the boy quickly turned the light in that direction he was thrilled to discover the moose lying there on his side, and not moving in the slightest degree.

“Oh! I did get him, didn’t I, Sebattis?” he cried, delighted beyond measure at his good fortune; for it is not every hunter who can say he brought down the first big game at which he has fired.

The guide was bending over the fallen monarch of the Maine woods. His first 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 though after this he must be a fool to go packing his own heavy tool through woods, 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 fore leg of the dead animal, as though wondering how so small a bullet could ever make such a big opening. Sebattis had something to learn concerning the results springing from the use of a soft-nosed bullet, that flattens out when striking any object, even the side of an animal.

“We ought to let the boys know right away,” said Thad, thinking of how his chums must be almost consumed with anxiety to be told the result of that lone shot; which Step Hen must guess came from his new rifle, and not the larger one carried by the Indian guide.

“Tad call um here. Me make little fire, so see how climb hill,” said Sebattis.

Only too gladly did Thad send out a whoop that easily reached the listening 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 on a run in the direction of the call. Doubtless poor Bumpus would have fared badly, and been left far in the lurch, only for the kindness of Jim, who gave him a helping hand over all obstacles.

Meanwhile the Indian had hastened to scrape together a few handfuls of dead stuff, which he seemed to know just where to look for; to this he applied a match and as it sprang into a tiny flame, he proceeded to add such fuel as he could most readily pick up.

In less than a minute he had a real fire going, that began to dispel the shadows of night around the vicinity of the spot where the giant moose lay. As it burned on the top of the bald ridge, the fire would serve as a beacon to show the others just how to reach the place.

Now they were climbing the low elevation. Thad could hear some of them puffing at a great rate. Of course Giraffe was the first to arrive, with Eli close on his heels; then Allan, and the others trailing after in any old style.

Each one of them pushed immediately to where the prize lay; and loud were the exclamations of astonishment when they realized just what a monster it 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, dancing around, and hugging his fine little rifle with all the delight a boy might show in the possession of his first long trousers. “Just look at what it did, would you? Why, anybody’s just silly to lug an old heavy blunderbuss like yours around, when he c’n own such a bully little thing at this. Oh! didn’t she just do everything to that old bull, though? If he’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 front of 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 he wondered whether Step Hen could have hit Bumpus’ old red barn, if, lying there in wait, he had suddenly seen the monster rise into view above the crown of the low ridge, and felt Sebattis nudge him in the ribs, as a warning that the time had come to shoot.

But it was a great moment for all the scouts, as they stood over the prize that had fallen to the gun of their patrol leader, Thad Brewster.