“Are you—” Scott began, but burst into another uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Are you hurt, Sturgis?” he managed to get out between the explosions.
“Nothing but my feelings,” Sturgis answered dryly. “Bend that sapling down a minute. There. I see now why you set two of these things, Newman,” he added as he waved his leg cautiously around to see if it would work.
“Why didn’t you yell?” Greenleaf asked.
“Well, at first I was too astonished to yell and then I was afraid that if I did you would stop and let Newman get away. I wanted you pretty badly anyway, Newman, and I wouldn’t have had you get away after this for twice the fine.”
Even the mention of the fine could not suppress the grin on Newman’s face. When they had sufficiently recovered they turned their attention to the deer. It was no easy task to get him down. He was somewhat tired by the long struggle but still promised an awful punishment to anyone who might try to touch him.
Newman had become resigned to his fate and was beginning to enjoy the situation. “I put him up there,” he chuckled, “now let’s see you get him down.” He sat down on a log to see the fun.
Greenleaf came to the rescue as usual, “I’ll climb the tree and cut off the top. Then we can handle him.”
Cutting off the top was a simple proposition but the “handling” was more complicated. For a moment it looked as though there were at least twenty deer. The air seemed to be full of them and it was not safe to go near. Greenleaf could not even get down out of the tree. But such violent antics could not last long in the dense brush. In a very few minutes the deer was completely tangled up in the wire and lay panting in a clump of alders unable to get up. Cautiously Sturgis sneaked up from behind and unfastened the wire loop. Scott, venturing a little too close had his trousers slit from the knee to the ankle with one vicious blow of that delicate front foot.
For an instant—and only an instant—the deer did not realize that it was free. Then with one bound it landed squarely on all four feet, cleared the clump of alders as lightly as a puff of smoke, and bounced away up the ridge the white tail waving defiance.
The progress home was slow—for Sturgis’ leg was rather badly wrenched—but they managed to get there just as the boys were coming down from breakfast and their advent into camp was, if possible, more triumphant than when they had captured the bear.