The noise of this battle roused Martin from the stupor into which he had fallen, so that he raised his head, and then gradually dragged himself into a sitting posture. Then, as he recognized the dogs, and saw Larry hurrying forward, new life thrilled the old man, and he began waving his hand and shouting feebly to the boy.
At first his voice was so low that the boy could not hear it above the din; but as he approached the rock, waiting for a favoring moment to place his one shot in some vital spot, he could make out some of Martin’s instructions shouted through his trumpeted hands.
“Steady, boy, steady!” the old man shouted. “Wait till he turns his head, and shoot between the eyes! Not now—wait till he turns—not yet—!”
Just then the moose, frantic with pain and anger, caught sight of the boy approaching him. At this discovery the huge animal seemed to forget the dogs, and wheeling, made straight for Larry, head down, bristles standing, and bloody foam blowing from its nose and mouth.
“Shoot! Shoot! For God’s sake shoot, Larry!” the old man screamed, half rising, and then toppling back upon the rock.
But Larry needed no instructions. He had proved himself and his weapon only yesterday, and he had the courage born of experience. The first terror inspired by the huge animal had passed, and now he stood with his feet braced wide apart on his snow-shoes, the rifle at his shoulder and his eye fixed on the little bead of the front sight as the huge animal plunged toward him. Kim and Jack, realizing the impending danger to their master, buried their teeth in the moose’s flanks on either side and hung on grimly causing the animal to pause momentarily. This was Larry’s chance. There was a flash and report, and the big animal, rearing upwards and sinking on its hind legs, plunged sidelong into the snow and lay still. The heavy steel-jacketed bullet had crashed into its brain, killing it instantly.
Before the huge head fairly reached the ground both dogs were at the animal’s throat, tearing and mangling, mad with the lust of battle. Larry, reacting from the tense excitement, felt his knees sag under him as he realized the result of the shot. But even this did not make him forget to load his gun again instantly—a thing that becomes automatic with the hunter—and approach the beast cautiously, ready for another shot. But the dogs, with fangs buried in the creature’s throat, gloating in the hot blood, bore silent witness that more shots were unnecessary.
Then Larry’s pent-up emotions found expression in a wild shout as he rushed to where old Martin lay.
But his feeling changed to dread apprehension when he reached the base of the rock, saw where the blood had trickled down over the side, and found that the old man had fallen back unconscious. Perhaps his triumph had come too late after all! In an instant he had kicked off his snow-shoes, climbed the sapling that rose beside the rock, and was kneeling over the still, crumpled figure, his warm hands caressing the white cheeks, his voice choked with emotion.
His warm touch revived the hunter, who opened his eyes slowly, and then smiled faintly up at the boy.