CHAPTER IV
[THE SHOOTING TRIP'S UNEXPECTED ENDING]
Evidently visitors in this neighborhood were something of a novelty, for there was quite a bustle of excitement as they drew up before the door. Cluff himself came hurrying from the barn to meet them--a sturdy figure of a man, ruddy and bronzed from constant toiling in the open air. Colonel, the retriever, barked himself hoarse, trying vainly to jump up into the buggy, his tail wagging in eager welcome. Cluff's eldest boy, a tow-headed youngster of ten or eleven, came strolling around the corner of the house, barefooted, clad in blue overalls, a straw in his mouth, surveying them with critical interest. The farmer's pretty wife appeared in the doorway, two of the younger children peering forth shyly from behind her skirts. No greeting could have been heartier. Introductions were soon made, and then Cluff turned to his boy. "Now, you, Nathan," he directed, "take the hoss out to the barn. And you boys, you come right into the house, and pretty soon we'll have a bite to eat, and then we'll get started on our cruise."
Putnam could no longer keep from asking the momentous question. "How about the ducks?" he ventured.
The farmer grinned. "Ducks?" he echoed. "By golly, boys, you certainly have struck it right. We ain't had a better flight for twenty years. Lots of marsh ducks, and there's a big raft of redheads and blackheads been trading to and fro, regular, for the last two weeks, and there ain't nobody bothered 'em at all. Oh, you'll see plenty of ducks; there ain't no doubt about that. Only question is," he added humorously, "whether you can hit 'em or not. I ain't ever seen either of you boys shoot, so I don't know. What kind of guns you got?"
They produced them from the rear of the buggy. Jim's was a twelve bore, hammerless; Dick's a more ponderous and old-fashioned ten-gage hammer gun. At the sight of this latter weapon, Cluff nodded in approval, but looked a little askance at the lighter of the two.
"A twelve bore is good for quail and partridges," he remarked, "but you need a ten gage for ducks. You want a big gun to stop those fellers. A ten gage is what I use. Guess I'll put you over in the marsh, Jim. You can do closer range shooting there. And I'll give you my wading boots, so you can pick up your ducks yourself. 'Tain't deep over there, and the bottom's good. Then we'll fit your friend on Pebble P'int, and give him Colonel to fetch his ducks for him and I'll go over across to t'other side of the lake, and fit there, near the cove. That way, we'll keep the birds pretty well stirred up, and it'll make better shooting for every one."
An hour later, fortified with a good dinner of turkey and "fixings," they shoved off from the beach at the easterly end of the lake, Cluff and Putnam at the oars, Dick seated in the stern, and Colonel curled comfortably up forward, on the heap of wooden decoys.
Parallel with the course they were steering, a long strip of land extended out into the lake, wide and well-wooded at its base, narrowing gradually to the westward, and ending in the sloping pebble beach that had given the point its name. Here Cluff backed the boat in close to land, and set Dick and Colonel ashore; showed Dick how best to conceal himself in the blind, half-raised, half-hollowed among the stones; and then, unwinding the cord wrapped loosely around their bodies, he threw overboard some twenty or thirty of the wooden redhead and blackhead decoys, each securely weighted with a lump of iron, and then, with a wave of farewell, again bent to the oars, and rowed off down the lake. Dick made himself comfortable in the blind, and whistled to Colonel, who crept in beside him, and curled up snugly at his side. Dick heaved a sigh of satisfaction. "Now we're ready for 'em, old boy," he said, stroking the retriever's silky ears, "and I suppose, if they come in, and I miss 'em, you'll despise me for the rest of your natural life."
Far down the lake, he watched the boat disappearing against the outline of the western shore. In front of him, his little flock of decoys dipped gaily to the breeze, looking so lifelike, that half-closing his eyes, he could almost persuade himself that they were really alive. He glanced at his watch. It was half-past two, and Cluff had said that the flight would begin by three. Yet eager as he was, he did not grudge the time he had to wait. It was pleasant lying there, with the warm sun shining in his face; pleasant to listen to the wind, as it swept through the tree-tops, and to hear the ripple of the tiny waves against the smooth, clean gray of the beach, flecked here and there with foam.
Presently he could see the boat returning, with one figure only at the oars, and he knew that Putnam must be safely tucked away among the marshy sedges, at the other end of the lake. Cluff made for the cove, a short distance to the south, set his decoys, dragged his boat up into the bushes, and disappeared from sight. All was at last in readiness. For the hundredth time, Dick looked at his watch. Five minutes of three. And then, as he glanced up once more toward the north, he shrank down still lower into the stand. A pair of ducks were winging their way up the lake, heading almost directly for the spot where he lay. He watched them eagerly, hardly daring to breathe, and then, little by little, they swerved, flying closer to the water, and finally passed, just out of reach, keeping on toward the cove where Cluff was concealed. All at once, Dick saw them wheel, set their wings, and sweep gracefully in toward the little flock of decoys. "Why doesn't he shoot?" he wondered, "Why doesn't he shoot?"
A puff of smoke leaped from the bushes; a dull report came down upon the wind. One of the ducks towered straight into the air; the other Dick could not see. Then, in a flash, the survivor crumpled up and dropped headlong, motionless, into the waters of the lake. The second report came borne across the water. Dick drew a long breath. "By gracious," he murmured, "he can certainly hit 'em, for fair."
The minutes passed. Then, from across the lake he heard, very faint and far, the sound of Putnam's little twelve gage; and a moment later he saw three ducks flying toward the cove. Would they decoy again? he wondered. Would Cluff get another shot? They seemed to be coming straight on--
"Whew--whew--whew--whew--whew--" came the whistle of flying wings; on the instant he turned his head, and his heart jumped at the sight. Unperceived, a flock of a dozen blackheads had come down along the point, had swung in to him, and now were fairly hovering over the decoys. Quick as thought, his gun was at his shoulder--Bang! Bang! sounded the double report and one duck fell dead to each shot. Dick felt himself trembling like a leaf at the suddenness of it all. Colonel, awaiting the word, lay quivering at his feet, his eyes, glowing like coals, fixed on the ducks, as they lay floating in the water. "Fetch 'em out, old man," Dick cried, and like a shot, the retriever was down the beach, breasting the waves, head and tail high in air, like the sturdy veteran he was. One at a time, he brought them in, and laid them proudly at Dick's feet; then once more crouched in the stand, waiting until his chance should come again.
Nor did they have long to wait. Now, far off in the northern sky, the ducks began to come in a steady flight, flying singly, in pairs, and in flocks of varying size. The marsh ducks, Dick noticed, made, for the most part, straight down the lake, toward the point where Putnam lay hidden in the reeds, and from time to time, the faint report of his companion's gun came to him over the water, though at such a distance that Dick could only guess at what luck he might be having. It was different with Cluff. The cove was so near that Dick could keep a rough account of the number of ducks falling to the farmer's share, and it was seldom indeed that a flock swung into the cove, without leaving one or more of their number behind.
Dick's own aim was scarcely as good. He put a number of good shots to his credit, stopping a pair of widgeon with one barrel, just as they drew together in the air; again knocking three redheads from a flock of five, passing at full speed overhead, without swinging to the decoys; and twice scoring a clean right and left on blackheads as they lowered handsomely to the blind. Yet his kills were offset by some villainous misses, over which he could only shake his head dejectedly, and turn away in shame from the reproachful glance of the retriever's eye. Once, indeed, just at sundown, a flock of about fifty redheads swung in, at just the proper range, just the proper elevation, just the proper everything; and yet somehow, flurried by the magnitude of the opportunity, he waited too long, sighted first at one bird, then at another, and finally fired one ineffectual barrel, just as the last bird in the flock was getting out of range. For a moment he almost wept, and then found a crumb of comfort in the thought that only Colonel was there to see, and that he could not tell of it, even if he would.
All too soon the sun sank behind the hills at the westerly limit of the lake. Dick left the stand, walked around to relieve his cramped muscles, and then counted up his bag. Eight blackheads, five redheads, two widgeon, a black duck and two teal, eighteen in all. He stood regarding them with pride. Now and again in the dusk he could hear the whistle of passing wings overhead; once, halfway down the lake, Cluff and Putnam, returning, fired at some belated flock, and with the report of their guns two jets of living flame leaped upward against the dark. A little later and he could hear the sound of their oars; then presently a dim black shape loomed up ahead and Cluff's friendly hail sounded through the gloom. "Well, son," he called, "I heard you dottin' it into 'em. And I saw there was some that didn't get away. How many did you kill?"
"Eighteen," Dick called back, "and if I'd shot straight I'd have killed forty. How many did you folks get?"
"Jim got fourteen," answered Cluff, "and I scored up twenty-two. Guess maybe Mr. Fenton's going to be a mite surprised. I told you we'd do well. You just wait, now, till I take in these decoys, and we'll come ashore and get you."
They rowed home through the darkness and trudged up the path, well-laden with their spoils, glad when the lights of the farm-house gleamed cheerfully across the clearing, welcome enough in any case, but now suggesting, as well, the thought of supper preparing within. And what a supper it was! Just comfortably tired and hungry, the boys made an onslaught on the fare which surprised even their host, accustomed as he was to the demands of a healthy country appetite. "Well, I don't know," he remarked at last, "I rather thought I had you fellows beat on shooting ducks, but when it comes to putting away turkey I guess you've pretty well squared up the count."
By seven o'clock their horse was at the door, and putting in their guns and their share of the game, they bade good-by to Cluff and his wife, thanking them again and again for their kindness, and set out on their homeward way. They were scarcely as talkative, after the first few miles, as they had been on the way out, but sat in silence, each living the day over again in his mind. Retrospect had taken the place of anticipation, and their pleasure, while perhaps fully as great, was of a kind more tranquil, and less keen. Perhaps, too, the spell of the night quieted their tongues. The full moon rose high in the heavens, putting the stars to rout, and lighting the long, straight road ahead of them almost as clearly as if it had been day. And thus they jogged steadily along in silence until they had traversed the greater part of their journey home. Scarcely a sound had disturbed the quiet of the drive. Now and again they heard the hooting of an owl; once a fox yapped sharply, and in answer there came a distant, long-drawn chorus of barks and howls, as if every dog within a dozen miles was giving answer to the challenge. But of fellow-travelers, either driving or on foot, they saw no sign until they had come within a mile or so of town. Then Dick, half lulled to sleep by the steady, monotonous thud of the mare's feet on the road, started up suddenly, rubbing his eyes, for ahead of them he saw two shadowy figures, one tall, one short, striding along the path in the gloom. "Look at those men, Jim," he said. "I wonder what they're doing out here at this time of night?"
As he spoke the figures rounded a bend in the path and disappeared from sight. And then, before Putnam could answer, all in the same breath, there arose ahead of them a quick, sharp outcry, the sounds of a scuffle, and then a shrill and frightened scream, echoing wildly through the silent forest, "Help! Help!"
As quick as thought Putnam leaned forward, snatched the whip from its socket and brought it down with all his force across the mare's flanks. Old Rosy bounded forward under the blow and Putnam cried, "Load up quick, Dick! Load up your gun!"
It had been Randall's first thought. Even as Putnam uttered the words he reached down, drew out the ten bore from under the seat, slipped in two shells, and sat alert and ready, his body bent a little forward, his weapon across his knees, as they sped forward, the buggy rocking and swaying beneath them like a ship in a gale of wind. A moment later they rounded the curve and Putnam, with a mighty jerk on the reins, pulled the mare back almost to her haunches to avoid running over the huddled group of figures fighting in the road. At the same instant Dick leaped from the buggy and ran forward.
A quick glance revealed the situation. One man was being attacked by three others, while on the outskirts of the group a little boy hovered, terror-stricken, still crying out for help. The man upon the defensive was holding his own manfully. He was tall and active, and made shrewd play with a stout cudgel, apparently his only weapon, striving constantly to prevent his adversaries from attacking him in the rear. Yet three to one was heavy odds; knives gleamed in the moonlight; and while two of the attacking force advanced warily on him the third was creeping stealthily around behind just as the boys appeared on the scene. With a shout Dick leaped forward, discharging his right hand barrel over the heads of the contestants as he ran. The effect of his shot was well-nigh magical. On the instant the three men broke and ran, diving into the bushes as if they knew the country well. The tall man started to follow, fumbling vainly in his pocket as he did so, then drew up with a suppressed cry of pain and turned to his rescuers. "Much obliged," he said. "Just about in time, I guess; they pretty nearly had me--"
He broke off suddenly, lurching unsteadily toward the buggy. "Don't know but what they've done me, now," he muttered.
Dick could see that his face was deathly pale. "Here, Jim," he called, "take him and the boy. Drive right in to the hospital. I'll get back, all right; it isn't far--" He helped the man into the wagon and lifted the boy in behind. Putnam gave the mare a cut with the whip and the buggy shot forward toward the town.