“I guess that has spoiled our day’s sport,” said Seth, quietly. “Listen.”
What is it they hear? The whole earth seems to tremble, and there is a sound comes from the woods like that of far-off thunder?
“They’re off,” said Seth; “that was a general stampede. In half-an-hour more we’d have had some fine skirmishing. They had been down to drink and were resting afterwards.”
Rory had to pay for his experience anyhow in a three hours’ manoeuvring march. They did outflank the deer at last, but they were somewhat wild, and the sport was only fair.
It was nightfall ere they reached Seth’s wigwam once more, and they were thoroughly tired, and glad to rest while Seth cooked the supper in a way that only Seth could.
That night they spent in the wigwam; next day they went on board, and Seth went with them, their object being to organise a little expedition against the caribou. McBain meant to make a week’s stay here to replenish his larder fore and aft, ere they tripped anchor and made sail for wilder regions to the westward and north.
You may be sure Rory did not forget his sketch-book, nor a light canoe he had which one man could carry on his back.
They had a week of such glorious sport, both in fishing and shooting, that when the last evening came round both Ralph and Rory averred that they would like to stay among these wooded hills for ever.
“I guess,” said Seth, “you’d get tired of it.”