They were soon on the point of rocks and inspecting the prize. It was a fine young buck and Rodney felt correspondingly elated.
"I declare, you'll soon be as good a hunter as Henry!" cried Dave, enthusiastically. "That shot was a prime one."
"I had everything in my favor," answered his cousin, modestly. "He seemed to be making a regular target of himself when I aimed at him."
"That may be true, Rodney, and yet some hunters would have had buck fever at the last minute and missed him. I've seen lots of 'em get the fever, and they couldn't hold a gun steady to save their lives."
"We are going to have some fun getting this game down into the camp, Dave."
"We can sling the carcass on a pole and you can take one end and I'll take the other. There's a sapling I can cut down for the purpose."
While Dave was cutting the pole Rodney took another look at the young buck and then at the surrounding country. Far off to the west of Fort Cumberland he saw a cloud of smoke arising.
"Daddy Farker must be burning some brush," he thought.
The man he mentioned was an old settler well known in that section of Virginia. He lived alone with his grandson and was rather a queer character. He played the violin, and was always asked to furnish the music for any "shin-dig" in the neighborhood. It was said by some that he had frequently played for old Lord Fairfax at Greenway Court, but this is a matter of doubt.
"Dave, look here!" cried Rodney, presently. "What do you make of that?"