CHAPTER VII
LIL ARTHA SAVES THE DAY
"That's too bad, Lil Artha," said Elmer, "but no matter, I'm sure you did the best you could."
That was just like Elmer. Plenty of fellows, in the first flush of keen disappointment, would have allowed themselves to speak more or less bitterly, and complain that it must have been rank carelessness that would account for such bad results. But Elmer saw that the tall scout was already suffering keenly; and his first thought was to console him.
At the same time he was looking about, and while the chagrined hunter began to aimlessly open his gun so as to thrust new shells into the barrels, Elmer went on to say:
"Point out to me just where the deer was when you fired, Lil Artha."
"Oh! now even you suspect that I just imagined I saw one, Elmer," sighed the other scout, "but d'ye notice that log lying across the other, something like a letter X? Well, he jumped clean over that when I gave him the second shot. Oh! he was as big as a barn to me, I tell you, and how I could ever miss him with the barrel that had the buckshot shell in it beats my time. I ought never to go out in the forest alone; I'm a fine duck of a hunter, ain't I? If it depended on Lil Artha to keep the camp in game we'd all turn into living skeletons, like the one in the sideshow of the circus last summer. Oh, rats—but not muskrats—I'm feeling pretty sick."
Elmer had not waited to listen to all this lament on the part of the disappointed marksman. Pushing forward he was now at the crossed logs. Immediately he called out in a loud voice that seemed to have an air of excitement about it:
"Hi! there, Lil Artha, come here, and hurry, too!"