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Pony Rider Boys in New England

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>AN EXCITING DAY IN CAMP</h3> The moose struggled for a few seconds, then stiffened out. "What was that?" demanded the sharp-eared Tad. "It sounded like a tree falling," answered Rector. "No, it was something else," answered the guide, intently listening. "Where is Stacy?" demanded the Professor. "That's so, he isn't here," wondered Walter. "Where can he have gone?" Stacy Brown about this time was struggling to his feet. His terrified eyes were looking at the stunned hulk lying there on the ground. Then Stacy Brown found his voice. He uttered a wild yell of terror. Cale Vaughn was on his feet in a twinkling. But quick as he was, Tad was ahead of him, tearing through the brush to the rescue of the fat boy, who, all believed, had got into some new difficulty. Bears was the first thought of the quicker-witted ones. Stacy heard his friends coming, then a sudden thought occurred to him. Whipping out his keen-edged hunting knife the fat boy sprang forward, giving the knife a swift sweep over the neck of the fallen, stunned bull. Chunky leaped back, uttering another yell, this time of triumph rather than fear. "I got him! I got him!" he yelled. At this juncture Tad came tearing through the brush. "What is it? What is it? Here he is. Here—" Tad Butler came to a sudden halt, at the same time slipping his revolver from its holster, but as quickly replacing it when he observed the real condition of affairs. There stood Stacy with the crimsoned knife still in hand, the other hand thrust in his trousers pocket, his chest thrown out, his head tilted back at an angle that threatened to topple him over backwards. "What—what?" gasped Tad. By that time Cale Vaughn had reached Tad's side. "What has happened here?" demanded the guide sharply. "That," answered Tad, pointing to the dying moose that had fallen a victim to the fat boy's hunting knife. "Good gracious!" exclaimed Cale. He, too, was well-nigh speechless. "Who did that?" "I did it with my little knife," answered the fat boy pompously. "It's a bull moose, sir, and the boy has killed it," said the guide in a puzzled voice, as the Professor, with Ned Rector and Walter Perkins, came running up to them. "This is the most remarkable thing I ever heard of." "Oh, that's nothing," replied Chunky airily. "It is only pleasant pastime to go out and kill a moose by hand." The party was now standing about the fallen animal, but they took care not to approach too closely, for the bull was still kicking. Tad shook his head. "How did this happen?" demanded the guide, turning on Chunky sharply. "He sailed into me, sir. Yes, sir, he lighted right into me with all four feet and his horns. We had it tooth and nail all over the place. It was a dandy battle. You ought to have seen it. Talk about your boxing matches." "But how did you do it?" insisted the guide, not believing Stacy's story. "With my little knife, of course. How did you suppose I cut his throat? Did you think I bit it in two?" "I'd hardly give you credit for being quite so hungry as that," answered Cale with the suspicion of a twinkle. "Let us have the story." "I am telling you—" "My, but he is a big one!" exclaimed Ned. "The largest one I ever saw. He is a terror. He must weigh more than fifteen hundred pounds," interrupted Mr. Vaughn. "Most remarkable, most remarkable!" muttered the Professor, while Walter Perkins gazed in awe upon the fat boy, who was literally swelling with importance. "I was dancing around like a boxer," continued Chunky. "I fought him with my hare hands until I happened to think of my knife. I drew my knife and I made a pass at him, but he jumped away. Oh, it was a fine bout, don't you folks forget it for a minute! Well, after a time I found an opening, then I let him have it right across the jug—jug—jugular." "But what was that crash we heard?" asked Vaughn. "That? Oh, that was when he fell down," answered Stacy a little lamely. "Hm-m-m!" mused the guide. Vaughn was not convinced. He knew that there was more to it than appeared on the surface. Chancing to catch the eyes of Tad Butler, he saw that Tad was of the same opinion. "He is dead now. We can look him over," announced the guide. "Isn't that a dandy pair of antlers?" cried Butler. "Very fine indeed," agreed Cale. "The finest specimens I have ever seen," nodded the Professor. "We can take the antlers home with us, can we not?" asked Ned. "You mean I can," interposed Stacy. "I am afraid it wouldn't do," replied Vaughn thoughtfully. "I know it is a pity to leave such a pair here in the woods, but it would not be safe to take them out." "I guess I will take them out," bristled Chunky. "Why will it not be safe, Mr. Vaughn?" inquired Tad. "Because it is against the law to shoot moose at this time of the year." "I didn't shoot him. I knifed him," answered the fat boy. "That makes no difference; you killed him. The open season is from October fifteenth to December first. You see we are a long way from an open season in the middle of June." The boys looked solemn. "Oh, that's too bad," said Tad. "I'll tell you what we will do," decided the guide, after a few moments' reflection. "I will cut off the head and we will bury the antlers. When the open season comes along I will drop out here and get the antlers. We can't hope to preserve the head that long, but the antlers themselves will be no small trophy when you consider that this is one of the largest bulls ever taken in the Maine woods. And, further, we shall have some fine moose steak. It will probably be a little tough from this big fellow, but it isn't every day that you can have moose steak for dinner. Where is Charlie?" "In camp," answered Walter. Cale shouted to him. He ordered the Indian to cut poles and prepare for butchering the dead bull. Tad asked if he might do it, to which request the guide gave a willing assent. This was somewhat different from butchering a bear weighing only a few hundred pounds. A three-quarter-ton moose was not an easy proposition to butcher. Tad tugged and perspired, and in the end was forced to ask for assistance in getting the animal off the ground. Cale smiled. "I thought you would be calling for help pretty soon," he said. "No one man could handle that carcass alone. Here, Charlie, get hold of the hind legs and help drag the fellow over between those two trees, then dig a hole so we can bury everything that would show what we have done. We don't want anybody to know about this, now that it is done." It took Tad nearly an hour and a half to complete his job, and when he had finished he was ready for another bath in the lake, which he took, at the same time washing his clothes and dancing up and down the beach while they were drying out in the sun. Tad said one moose was enough for him. If he ever had to dress another he wouldn't dress it. During all this time Chunky Brown was strolling up and down with chest thrown out, his hands in his trousers pockets. His achievement was the talk of the camp. The boys were greatly excited, more or less envious of what Stacy had accomplished. Tad, after he had donned his clothes, returned to the scene of the conflict. He examined the ground, then turned his attention to the tree. The boy devoted some moments to a certain spot on the tree where the bark had been broken by the blow from the moose's head. Tad grinned, but he said nothing to his companions upon his return to camp. It was too good to tell. He did not know how much Cale knew or suspected, but he realized that the guide did not quite believe all that Stacy had told them about the battle. "Now tell us about that fight with the moose again?" urged Tad. Chunky was willing. "Well, it was this way," he began, leaning against a tree, the others being seated about the fire. "You mean it was that way," suggested Rector. "I mean what I said. If you know more about it than I do, suppose you tell the story. I went out there because I heard something—no, I guess I didn't hear anything at the start. However, I went out there." "Yes, we know you went out there," said Tad. "If you hadn't gone out there, how could you have gotten there?" "I—I went out there." "To sleep?" asked Ned. "Well, yes. I guess I did. After a time I woke up. I saw this big bull sniffing around. I didn't know what he was at first. I thought he was an elephant until I saw his horns." "Didn't think it was a cow, did you?" inquired Tad solemnly. "I did not," answered the fat boy with dignity. "About the time I discovered him he saw me. Then—then—then he went for me. You should have seen him come!" "Show us how he did it," nodded the guide. The fat boy, forgetful of his new dignity, lowered his head as close to the ground as possible without falling over on his face and began prancing about the camp, bellowing hoarsely. "Just like that?" asked Ned. "Yes, just like that, only awfully fierce!" The Professor was regarding the boy narrowly. A dawning suspicion was in his mind that Stacy was drawing the longbow. But Professor Zepplin made no comment. "And then?" inquired Cale quietly. "And then we met. I—I must have grabbed the bull by the horns after he had swung around twice and tried to kick me—" "That sounds more like a kangaroo than a bull moose," observed the Professor. "It was this same moose, Professor. This is what is known as the kicking species of moose," answered Tad, trying to keep a straight face. "Yes, he is like some folks we know not more than a mile and a half from here. He was a kicker. Well, I caught him by the horns just like this. Then you should have seen the fun. Why we thrashed around"—Stacy was acting it all out, bellowing loudly—"he flopped me this way and that. Funny thing, but I never thought of my knife." "No?" said the guide, elevating his eyebrows slightly. "No, sir. Of course if I had had a gun, I would have shot him. But I didn't have a gun, and having so few chances to use my knife, I never thought a thing about it. Well, we had it hot and heavy until I did think of the knife." "Why didn't you let go?" asked Walter. "Fine thing to do, that," answered Stacy scornfully. "Why, he would have bored me through with his antlers; then he would have come into camp and killed you all. You see, I was determined to save your lives as well as my own." "Noble boy!" murmured Rector. "Very considerate, indeed," observed the Professor dryly. "Why didn't you call for help?" asked Cale. "I had use for my breath," replied Stacy quickly. "I couldn't yell without taking my mind off the brute. Then he would have finished me. After a while I did think of the knife. At the first opportunity I whipped it out and gave him one out across the neck. But, sir, I didn't let go until he fell over. I almost went down with him. Then he fell over and I let out a yell." "That is the most dramatic account I have ever listened to," observed Cale soberly. "Most remarkable," added the Professor, stroking his beard. "What a star Chunky would be in the Fibbers' Club," grumbled Ned Rector. "And that's how I did it," finished the fat boy, beginning to whistle through his teeth as he strolled back and forth with hands in his pockets. Stacy Brown was now thoroughly convinced that he was in a class all by himself. He had suspected as much before. Now he knew it. But a day of unhappiness was at hand when the fat boy would wish he never had come into the big woods. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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