Their course was along the bank of a small stream which, deep in the woods, formed a fair-sized pond. The spot was a beautiful one, the large trees shading a good portion of the pond. Around the water hovered many birds, and with a shotgun Rodney succeeded in bringing down several of them. He also brought down a pair of squirrels, while Dave laid low a wild turkey of fine size.
"That spoils our chance of a deer around here," said Rodney. "But that first shot was too good to be missed."
"We can't look for a deer every time we go out," answered Dave. "Why even old hunters know better than that. Sam Barringford has gone out all day, so he tells me, without a sign of anything larger than a turkey or a rabbit. Game is not as plentiful as it was years ago. Some day I suppose there won't be anything left to shoot."
A little while after that they came on the track of a deer, and concluding that it was fresh, they resolved to follow it for a mile or two. The tracks led directly through a patch of tall timber and then to a rocky elevation overlooking a part of the settlement at Fort Cumberland.
"There's the deer!" whispered Rodney, suddenly, and pointed to the top of the rocks.
"What a fine shot!" returned Dave. "Rodney, you can bring him down with ease."
"You had better take him, Dave. You found the tracks."
"Never mind, you try for him," answered Dave, for he knew his cousin was anxious enough to have the shot.
Thus urged, Rodney looked to his rifle, to see that it was ready for use. Then he knelt down on the ground and rested the barrel of the weapon on a rock. Taking careful aim he pulled the trigger.
"Good, you have him!" shouted Dave, as the deer leaped high in the air and then dropped in its tracks. The bullet had done its work well, and the game was dead before they reached it.