The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

AT A DEER HUNT

In a moment there was a wild commotion throughout the lodge. All of the others sprang up, and reached for their weapons.

“What is it, a bear?” gasped Harry.

“A snake! a snake!” screamed Fred. “Save me, before he stings me!”

The lantern had been turned low. Now Joe turned it up, while Joel Runnell kicked the fire into a blaze. In the meantime, Fred pulled both the blanket and the reptile from him, and cast them upon the floor.

“Let me get at him,” said old Runnell, and he stepped into the sleeping room as the snake crawled from under the blanket and started across the floor for a hole in the corner.

Bang! it was a hasty shot, and in that confined space it made the ears of all the boys ring. For the time being, the smoke was so thick nobody could see, and more than one began to cough.

“Did you – you fetch him?” faltered Fred. He felt so weak in the lower limbs that he had to rest on the edge of a bunk for support.

“Think I did,” was the laconic reply of the old hunter. He held the double-barreled gun ready for a second shot.

But this was unnecessary, for as the smoke cleared away it was seen that the snake had been literally cut to pieces by the dose of shot. The tail still whipped over the floor, and, catching it up, the old hunter threw it on the back of the fire, and a moment later the head and the bits of body followed.

“Was it a rattler?” questioned Harry.

“No, it was only an ordinary everyday snake,” answered Joel Runnell. “I reckon the heat warmed him into life. But he scared you, didn’t he, Fred?”

“Well-er – it wasn’t very pleasant,” answered the stout youth. “I don’t want another such bunkmate.”

“I guess none of us do,” came from Joe. “Ugh! it makes one shiver to think of it.”

“I’m going to search around for more,” said Harry, and took up the lantern. The others helped him, but no more snakes were to be found.

As Joel Runnell had predicted, New Year’s day proved clear, and the bright sun, shining on the snow, was fairly dazzling.

“We’ll go out after dinner,” said the old hunter. “The sun will soon make the top of the snow right for snow-shoeing,” and so it proved.

The boys were anxious to try the snowshoes, or skis, as they are called in certain parts of the country. They had already tried them around the yard at home, with varying success. Joel Runnell was an expert in using them, and he gave them all the advice he deemed necessary.

“Take your time, and make sure of what you are doing,” he said. “If you try to hurry at the start, you’ll surely take a tumble. Swiftness comes only with practice.”

It had been decided that they should cross to the mainland on a hunt for deer. About two miles and a half away was a cove to which the deer came regularly at certain seasons of the year. This was known, however, to nobody but Joel Runnell, and he took good care to keep the fact to himself.

An early dinner was had, and they started off about midday, after closing up the lodge and putting a wooden pin through the hasp of the door. A rough board was nailed over the open window, so that no wild animal might leap through to rummage their stores.

“Now for a nice deer apiece!” exclaimed Joe, as they made their way to the lake shore.

“I must say you don’t want much,” said Harry. “I guess we’ll be lucky if we get one or two all told.”

“Nothing like hoping for the best,” grinned old Runnell. “It might be that we’d get two each, you know.”

“I want a good picture of a deer as much as anything,” went on Harry, who had his camera swung from his shoulder.

“Humph! that’s all well enough, but we can’t live on photos,” grumbled Fred. “A nice juicy bit of venison will just suit me to death after such a tramp as this is going to be.”

As soon as the thick undergrowth was left behind, they stopped and donned their snowshoes. Out on the lake the snow lay in an unbroken mass for miles. Over this they found snowshoe walking to be comparatively easy.

“Snowshoes are all right on a level,” old Runnell explained. “It is going up-hill and coming down that tests one’s skill.”

“Oh, I think this is lots of fun!” cried Harry, and started to run. All went well for fifty yards, when he struck an extra high drift of snow and pitched into it headlong.

“Oh, for a snap-shot!” sang out Joe, merrily. “Harry, lend me the camera until I press the button on you.”

“Not much!” spluttered his brother. “Wuow! But that was a cold plunge!” he added, as he freed himself of the snow. “Tell you what, there is more science in using these things than one imagines.”

The edge of the cove was covered with pines and spruces, all hanging low with their weight of snow. Back of this fringe was a small opening, filled with young saplings.

“The deer have been around here, that’s certain,” said Joel Runnell, as he pointed to the saplings. “See how they have been peeling off the bark.”

He told them to look to their firearms, and they did so, while Harry made certain that his camera was ready for use. Then they continued their journey, with eyes and ears on the alert for the first appearance of any game.

It was all of an hour before the old hunter called a halt. He pointed to a track in the snow just ahead of them.

“Deer!” he said, in a half whisper. “Five of ’em. Go slow now, and make no noise.”

At this announcement the heart of each of the youths began to flutter, and they clutched their guns tightly, while Harry brought his camera around to the front.

There was a slight rise of ground in front of them, at the top of which was a belt of brushwood. To the right was a hollow, and to the left something of a cliff.

The brushwood gained, Joel Runnell, who was in the lead, motioned for the boys to crouch low. They did as ordered, and came up to him as silently as so many ghosts.

The sight that met their gaze thrilled them to the core. The five deer were just beyond, feeding on the tender bark of the young trees in that vicinity. They were knee-deep in the snow. A magnificent old buck was leader of the herd.

“Let me take a picture first!” whispered Harry, and swung his camera into position. The sun was shining directly on the game, and the grouping could not have been better. Click! and the snap-shot was taken. Then, to make sure of a picture, he took a second shot from a slightly different position.

As the second click was heard, the old buck raised his head to look around and listen. The wind was blowing from the deer toward the hunters, so the buck scented nothing unusual.

“Joe, take the one on the left; Harry, try for that on the right; Fred, shoot the one near the big rock. I’ll take the buck,” whispered Joel Runnell.

All agreed, and the firearms were brought into position. Fred was trembling as with “buck fever,” and Harry was equally excited.

“When I count three, fire,” said the old hunter. “Ready? One, two, three!”

Crack! crack! bang went the rifles and the shotguns, in a scattering fire. On the instant the old buck bounded into the air and fell lifeless, with a bullet through his left eye. The deer Joe had aimed at was mortally wounded, and fell where it had stood, kicking and plunging, and sending the snow and ice flying in all directions.

Harry and Fred had not been so fortunate, although each had “nipped” his mark, Fred landing some shot in the deer’s side, and Harry striking in the hind quarter. In the meantime, the fifth deer turned, and sped from sight with the swiftness of the wind.

“Hurrah! we’ve got two at least!” shouted Joe, and ran forward to finish his prize. This was an easy matter, and a second shot caused the deer to stop struggling at once.

“Look out for those other chaps!” yelled Joel Runnell, suddenly. “They are going to attack us!”

He was right. The two wounded deer were hurt enough to turn ugly, and now each came on with eyes that were full of fight. One sprang at Joe, and with a well-directed blow sent that youth sprawling headlong over the game he had brought low. The second charged on Fred, knocking the stout youth over likewise and then preparing to gore him with all the power of those cruel-looking prongs.