"Up here in the woods," called back Tom and Horace, running to the
edge of the forest to guide them to the camp.
It was several minutes before Larry and Bill came in sight, and
before they did the others had learned that they had found the deer
Bill thought he had hit.
"I ran across it," explained Larry. "It's hind leg was broken and
it was lying down when I came upon it. The poor thing tried to
jump up, but it couldn't very well."
"But I didn't hear any shot," interrupted Tom. "I've been
listening, too."
"Good reason why, because it was way over in another basin,"
answered his brother. "It must have been all of three miles from
here, don't you think so, Bill?"
"Easily."
"Then how did you follow it?" demanded Horace.
"By its blood and where its leg dragged."
"Well, I'm glad you found the poor creature and put it out of
misery," declared his father. "That's the only objection I have to
deer hunting--the animals have such wonderful vitality that they
travel miles and miles after being crippled and then drop from
exhaustion, like this one. As a usual thing, I don't allow any one
to fire at a deer unless at short range. I made an exception this
morning, but I never will again."
"We didn't bring much of the meat back, it was too long a haul,"
said Bill after he had partially satisfied his hunger.
"We have plenty," returned his father.
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