This wolverene had scented the two deer in the tree the day before and all night long and during the morning it had tried to get at the meat, but could not, on account of the swinging ropes. Now it saw the game lying on the drags, and the young hunters several yards away, and it was meditating a leap forward in an effort to secure at least part of the longed-for prey.
Nearer and nearer came the beast, its eyes gleaming wickedly and its cruel jaws working convulsively. It crawled on the ground with the stealthiness of a panther.
When it was less than twenty feet away, Harry suddenly arose and walked toward the game, to examine the deer heads, to see if they would be worth preserving.
The wolverene saw the movement and its hopes of getting at the coveted prey sank. Then it grew furious at the advance of the young hunter and crouched still lower, with the intention of leaping straight for Harry’s throat.
All unconscious of his danger, Harry turned around, and then for the first time saw what he was facing. At the same instant the tail of the wolverene gave a swish, and the beast rose high into the air as it leaped for Harry’s throat.
But the wolverene never landed as expected. While it was yet in mid-air, the report of a rifle echoed through the forest and the beast fell to the ground with a strange snapping and snarling, and then of a sudden stretched itself out in death.
“Oh!” It was all Harry could say for the time being. He gazed at the wolverene in a dazed sort of way.
“Harry!” burst out Joe, and ran forward, rifle in hand. “A wolverene, and dead, too! How did you do it?”
“I—I didn’t do it, Joe.”
“But he is shot—right through the left eye,” went on Joe.