“Good! You’ve got him!” shouted Dave, and ran down the clearing with his uncle behind him and the Risleys bringing up the rear. By the time they reached the game the deer had ceased to kick and was calmly breathing its last, with eyes wide open in painful wonder. They hauled the animal out of the brook, and Joseph Morris speedily put it out of its misery by cutting its throat.
“A fine shot!” remarked Dave. “Straight through the neck. It’s something to be proud of—especially in this uncertain light.”
“A remarkable shot!” cried Uriah Risley. “I couldn’t do that if I practised a thousand years! And you took your time, too.”
“The brush hid him a bit and I wanted him to raise his head,” explained Mr. Morris. “Yes, it was a good shot, but I’ve seen plenty equal to it. You can have venison for a week now, and longer.”
“Don’t you want the meat?”
“No, I’ll take the skin and leave the meat to you for your hospitality to Dave and me. Perhaps we’ll stop again on our return from Annapolis.”
“Do, and we’ll do our best by you,” put in Mrs. Risley. “I’ve been longing for some fresh venison these three weeks back, but Uriah was not equal to bringing a deer down.”
“You should practice more with your rifle,” said Joseph Morris, to the cabin owner. “A pound or two spent on powder and ball is often well invested. Dave, here, I am proud to say, can shoot almost as well as myself, and so can my own boys at home.”
“I will take the advice,” answered Uriah Risley. “For such deer meat as this is certainly worth some shillings, not to speak of the worth of the hide.”
The game was brought up to the house, and by the light of a pitch pine torch, the Morrises skinned it and then turned the carcass over to the Risleys.