CHAPTER VII

HUNTERS, ALL

"LOOK, Dick, we are not the only hunters," whispered Roger, as he tugged at the sleeve of his cousin's tunic, and pointed with his rifle.

There was a slight movement in the undergrowth just ahead of them. Dick, looking in that direction, was surprised to see a crouching animal slink away. He instantly recognized it as a gray timber wolf, and knew the animal must have been hiding there in hopes of seizing upon some sort of game.

As a single wolf, however daring, would never attempt to attack a buffalo, Dick could not understand at first what the animal meant to do. He judged, however, that, as this was the spring of the year, possibly there were calves in the herd, which would be just the tender sort of food that the sleek prowler would delight to secure.

The animal drew back his lips at the boys, disclosing the cruel white fangs; but he knew better than to attack such enemies and slunk swiftly away. After he slid into a thicker part of the brush the boys lost sight of him, for the time at least.

Bent upon finding a place where they could get a fair shot at such animals as seemed best suited to their needs, the boys crept along. The patch of timber was not of any great size, and already they could see the open prairie between the standing trees.

Again did the keen-eyed Roger make a sudden discovery that caused him to grip once more the arm of his companion and point. This time, however, he did not speak even in a whisper, for they were very close to the edge of the motte, and for all they knew some buffalo might be lying within twenty feet of them.

What Dick saw, as he turned his eyes in the direction indicated, surprised him very much. Apparently the tempting bait had drawn another savage hunter to the spot in hopes of securing a meal.

It was no Indian brave who sprawled upon the lowermost limb of that tree, but the lithe figure of a gray animal which Dick instantly recognized as a panther, and an unusually big one at that.

The beast was staring hard at them. It did not move, or offer to attack them, but, just as the wolf had done, it bared its teeth.

The boys were not looking for trouble with a brute of this type just then. Food alone held their thoughts and governed their movements. On that account Dick did a very wise thing when, drawing his companion aside, he made a little detour.

The boys crept as softly as though born spies. Hardly a leaf fluttered as they moved along, and certainly no stick cracked under their weight, for these lads had long ago learned all that woodcraft could teach them.

Both cast many a curious glance to the right and to the left, as though wondering what next they would come upon in the way of hungry, envious beasts.

After a little while Dick turned again toward the front, and began to make his way to the edge of the timber. He had noticed that, at a certain point, the dead grass extended some thirty feet away from the trees, and offered splendid shelter to any one who knew how to utilize it.

Taking an observation after he had crawled forward to the very edge of the timber, Dick found that the nearest animals were some little distance away. He could count a dozen of them in sight, and there were two small calves frisking about their mothers.

Although the grass might be exceptionally fine close up to the trees, the temptation to feed in closer was resisted by the buffaloes. They seemed to know by some intuition that danger was apt to lurk where timber grew, especially for the tender calves.

In order to make sure of their shots, it was desirable for the boys to crawl out amidst that dead grass. Dick could see that it offered the finest kind of shelter, and, once they reached its furthermost limit, the chances of making sure shots would be just that much enhanced.

Flattening themselves out upon the ground they crept along on their hands and knees. An inexperienced hunter could never have performed the task without attracting the attention of the feeding buffaloes, and causing a stampede; but the Armstrong boys had learned how to accomplish the feat.

Now and then a cautious observation was taken, and these glances painted the scene vividly on the minds of the creeping boys. They could see the coveted yearling cows that it was their object to secure, the other, older members of the herds, and, towering above all, the old bull who ruled the herd.

This last was a terrible object, with the shaggiest mane the boys had ever seen on a buffalo. He showed the scars of numerous fierce battles, and one of his short black horns had been twisted out of shape in some former combat, so that it gave him a peculiarly wicked appearance.

Of course, when picking out their game, neither of the hunters had the slightest idea of aiming for the patriarch of the herd. He would be much too tough a morsel for any one to chew, unless reduced to the point of actual starvation, when he might be preferable to slicing up one's moccasins for soup.

The old fellow seemed to understand his business as acknowledged guardian of the herd. He moved hither and thither, and, every once in so often, stopped to look around him, as though in search of signs of trouble.

Then he would shake his great head, give a proud snort of conscious power, strike at the ground several times with one of his forefeet, and finally go on with his feeding.

By this time the hunters had arrived at the point where to proceed further would be to accept unnecessary risk of detection. They knew well that, once the alarm was given, the whole herd would quickly be in motion.

While they might possibly succeed in a shot taken at a moving target, the chances of a miss were much greater than they cared to take. So Dick concluded the time had come for them to pick out their quarry, take deliberate aim, and then fire as close together as possible.

A moving form attracted their attention close to the trees. It was the hungry wolf, possibly seeking some new shelter. If the feeding animals noticed the gray form at all they paid little heed to his presence, having contempt for a single wolf. It would have been at the risk of his life for the wolf to make a dash out toward the herd. Hungry though he probably was, the slinking beast must have known this, for, after giving a stretch to his head, as though longingly sniffing the air, he crept once more back into the shelter of the timber.

Roger chuckled to himself, though deep down in his boyish heart he felt sorry for that hunger-tempted wolf. He was also thinking that, if their plans turned out well, they would leave a feast behind sufficient to satisfy the appetites of both panther and wolf.

One last survey Dick took of the open stretch before them. He noticed that the old bull was sniffing the air suspiciously just then. Whether he had caught traces of their presence, or it was the fact of the prowling wolf that began to bother the bull, Dick could not say.

In fact, things had by now reached a stage where he did not think it mattered. Directly before them, and in plain sight, were two of the yearlings, one of them a fine, sturdy-looking young bull.

Dick, as soon as he clapped his eye on this animal, selected him as his intended victim. He knew that such a prize would be a choice morsel for the camp; and, for that reason, he meant that his aim should be particularly sure when the moment arrived to shoot.

"Leave the young bull to me, Roger," he whispered under his breath.

"Just as you say, Dick," came the equally cautious reply, as both rifles were brought slowly up to the boys' shoulders.

The leader of the herd stamped his forefoot angrily on the ground and made the turf fly. Plainly his suspicions had been aroused.

Dick knew they must delay no longer. The bull acted as though about to give the alarm that would cause the whole herd to scamper wildly off. Now the guns were leveled, and the cheek of each hunter lay alongside the stock.

"Ready?" asked Dick, softly.

"Yes," came the immediate reply.

"Then let go!"

Crash!

Both guns let go almost as one, and the feeding herd was thrown into a wild panic.