Sebattis, with that wonderful instinct of his, had known instantly from certain actions of the moose upon being struck, that the animal had received his death wound. He understood that there was really no need of his sending in a second shot; and besides, he preferred that the young Nimrod should have the full credit of slaying the big bull.
Sebattis, for all he was an Indian, had all the generosity that marks the true sportsman; and later on, in thinking it over, Thad realized how much he was indebted to the guide for refraining from firing after he had done so.
“You get um, Tad!” exclaimed the Indian, with a touch of pride in his tone.
“Oh! do you really think I did, Sebattis?” cried the delighted young hunter, now trembling like an aspen leaf, for the crisis was all past.
“Come with me; see!” was the reply.
Eagerly did Thad climb that little slope. It was now all as silent as death up yonder. He hoped after all, Sebattis might not be mistaken, and that the wily old moose, although severely hurt, had managed to slip away. They would surely never be able to track him by the drops of blood he shed.
But now they were on top of the rise. Thad had brought along with him the little electric torch which he had purchased before starting on this trip to Maine. All he had to do was to grip it in his left hand, press a button, and instantly a brilliant ray of light shot out of the end. With this he could see objects as much as sixty or eighty feet away, and plainly at half that distance.
So now he flashed this light ahead. At first he failed to discover anything on the ground, and his heart seemed to rise in his throat with cruel disappointment at the thought that after all he had missed.
“Tad, see!”
It was the Indian who was plucking at his sleeve, and directing his attention over to the left. And as the boy quickly turned the light in that direction he was thrilled to discover the moose lying there on his side, and not moving in the slightest degree.